one little chance
by airbefore
Summary: "We should date. For Christmas." / AU
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, much as I might wish they were.

 **AN:** Just a harmless bit of Hallmark channel inspired AU holiday fluff. 12 chapters in total, going up one a day from now to NYE.

* * *

 _Maybe I'm crazy to suppose_

 _I'd ever be the one you chose_

 _Out of a thousand invitations_

 _You received_

 _Aah, but in case I stand one little chance_

 _Here comes the jackpot question in advance_

 _What are you doing New Year's_

 _New Year's Eve?_

 _~ What are you doing new year's eve, Ella Fitzgerald_

* * *

 _Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, jingle all the way..._

Rick stifles a groan as the door of the Starbucks swings shut behind him. Still two days left before Thanksgiving and already he cannot escape the relentless onslaught of Christmas cheer around every damn corner. The thought of having to suffer through another thirty-five days of carols and decorations and sappy holiday movies makes him want to lie down on the floor and throw a tantrum that would put any toddler to shame.

The metal handle of the door bumps into the laptop bag slung over his shoulder. Rick steadies the bag with one hand and steps forward, taking his place at the end of the line.

"Sorry about that."

Rick acknowledges and dismisses the apology with a raised hand as he looks back over his shoulder at the woman now standing behind him in line. A mint green beanie hugs the top of her head, the color popping against her dark hair and black pea coat. Pink stains her cheeks and her arms loop around her own waist as she sways a little back and forth on heels that have to be at least three and half inches.

"It was my fault for loitering in the doorway," Rick says. "I deserved it."

The woman chuckles, a rasping little sound that makes the hair on the backs of his hands lift against the soft lining of his gloves.

"I wouldn't go that far."

A chime rings out from her hip and she pulls out her phone, tugging off one glove so she can manipulate the screen. The corners of her mouth turn down and Rick looks away in spite of his innate desire to snoop. Some of his best character ideas have come from what his mother would call eavesdropping on strangers.

A gaggle of teenagers, probably close to Alexis' age, clump together in front of him, shopping bags clutched in their hands and their voices almost loud enough to drown out the dulcet tones of Andy Williams as he enumerates the many ways Christmas is just so freaking great.

"The most wonderful time of the year, my ass," Rick grumbles, pulling off his own gloves and tucking them into the pocket of his coat.

The woman laughs again and Rick looks back over his shoulder on the off chance that he was the cause. She still has her phone out but her eyes meet his.

"Not a Christmas fan?"

"The day itself is fine," Rick concedes, angling his body back toward her. "The two months of this -" He gestures around the coffee shop, every surface festooned with garland or snowmen or little tiny Rudolphs with actual light up noses - "Not so much."

The line moves and they shuffle forward, heels scuffing against the floor. The teenagers start to order, and Rick imagines that he's seeing the last of the cashier's will to live drain out of her index finger with each frappe she rings up.

"I'm with you," the woman says, hands tucking into the deep pockets of her coat. "This is overkill. And not to sound like a cliche, but I swear they're starting it earlier and earlier every year."

Rick nods, the too-long hair at the nape of his neck rustling against the collar of his coat.

"I saw a Christmas movie on the tv guide on Halloween. _Halloween_ ," he stresses as she shakes her head, one side of her mouth pulling up into what might be a grin. "The ghosts and goblins and serial killers who prey on teenagers at camp can't even get their own full day anymore."

"Poor Casper," she says, hazel eyes sparkling with playfulness. "He tries so hard to be friendly and this is how we treat him."

"And don't even get me started on Thanksgiving," Rick barrels on. Careful to maintain a reasonable distance, he leans closer and whispers, "I actually heard someone refer to it as pre-Christmas the other day. What the hell does that even mean?"

The soft scent of lavender floats off her coat, competing with the strong acidity of roasted beans and tickling the inside of his nose.

"I don't think I want to know," she says and Rick nods.

"Right? What was so wrong with November just being November? Why wasn't one month enough?"

The woman shrugs. "Because people are always going to want more. It's our nature." She gestures to the board displaying the thirty different drinks in four sizes. "Do they really need that many options? Probably not. But -"

Her head tips toward the group of teenage girls moving toward the bar to wait on their blended drinks. Rick follows her gaze and then looks back.

"Wow, you're even more jaded than I am." He nods, flicks an eyebrow. "I like it."

She laughs, one long finger lifting to point at the cashier not so patiently waiting for him to step up to the counter.

"You're up."

Rick moves forward, hand reaching for his wallet. "Sorry for keeping you waiting," he says, smiling at the young woman.

She smiles back, hand hovering over the stack of red holiday cups at her side. "It's no problem. What can we get started for you today?"

"I'd like a grande cappuccino with an extra shot, please," he says, watching as the cashier pulls out the appropriate size of cup and scribbles on it with a marker.

"Your name?"

A voice from behind him answers before he can. "Scrooge."

Rick turns around, finds the woman in the mint green hat grinning at him. "Yep," he says, directing his answer toward the befuddled young woman behind the counter. "That's me. Scrooge."

"Whatever," the girl mumbles, setting his cup in line and typing the order into the computer. "Your total is four eighty two."

Ricks hands over a five dollar bill, tossing the loose change plus an extra dollar into the tip jar. He gives one last smile to the woman behind him and walks away, eyes scanning the crowded cafe for a seat. He spots an empty two top near the pick up bar and veers toward it, fingers working on the buttons of his coat.

The barista calls out for Scrooge just as he's gotten his computer out and powered on. Rick grabs the drink with a nod of thanks and settles in, thumb swiping across the trackpad. He opens up one of the documents on his desktop, trying hard to ignore the words - or lack thereof - that populate the screen.

"Grinch," the barista calls, his voice lifting the last syllable in a question. "Order up for Grinch."

The woman in the beanie steps up and takes the cup. She slides a cardboard sleeve around it, gives him a grin. Rick tilts his own cup in a salute and she lifts hers in return. Her heels click against the tile floor as she makes her way toward the door and out into the blustery November afternoon.

Rick's eyes drift back to the blinking cursor on the screen. His fingers hesitate on the keys for a moment before he starts to type, a character with warm hazel eyes and a sly smile suddenly coming to life on the page.

* * *

The smell of fresh-from-the-oven baked goods wafts out from under the front door of his loft. Rick fishes his keys out of his bag and smiles, mouth already watering at the thought of trying whatever recipe his daughter is working on perfecting now. She's been obsessed with baking ever since they binge watched _The Great British Bake Off_ together over the summer. His waist doesn't appreciate being a taste tester nearly as much as his mouth does, but he's definitely not going to let that stop him.

"What is that heavenly scent?" Ricks calls out as he lets himself into the loft. "And please tell me it's cool enough to eat."

"As though you have ever let that stop you before," Martha Rodgers clucks, descending the stairs like the grande dame she believes herself to be. "Really, Richard, you should forego the pastries." One bony, bejeweled hand pats her own flat stomach. "They wreak havoc on the silhouette."

"I like my silhouette just fine, thank you, Mother."

The blunt end of a finger pokes at his modest gut. "You might, but I don't see the eligible bachelorettes of New York City beating down your door."

"I do just fine with the bachelorettes," Rick says, reaching for the plate of sticky buns.

Well, he would.

If he tried.

He plucks a pastry from the top of the pile, smiling at the trail of thick, syrupy sugar connecting it to its brethren. The first bite practically melts on his tongue, butter and sugar and cinnamon coming together in a glorious symphony of delicious decadence. He swallows the moan that comes inching up his throat, unwilling to give his mother any further ammunition.

"You last went on a date around the same time you last finished a book," his mother says, finding a spare cache of bullets all on her own. "What was that? About three years ago now?"

Rick sighs and walks past her, cinnamon roll in one hand and the strap of his laptop bag in the other. She follows him through the living room and into his office, chattering all the way, completely oblivious, as always, to his silent treatment.

"Really, darling, this is getting worrisome. You've gone through your backlog of completed manuscripts." Martha perches on the edge of his desk, shrewd eyes watching as he unpacks the laptop and charger, stuffing the bag into one of the empty desk drawers. "Your agent is already threatening you with increasingly creative forms of torture if you don't turn in something that can pass for a novel soon."

Rick takes another bite of his roll and looks up at her.

"The book coming out in January is your last one, kiddo. You've got to get out of this -" The stack of gold bangles on her wrist jangles as she waves a hand at him - "funk you've been wallowing in since Meredith left. It's been almost five years, Richard."

His mother stops, eyebrows knitting together to form a crease she'll never admit to having.

"Why are you silently glaring at me?"

Rick shakes his head, tucking the last bite of his snack into his cheek and wiping his sticky fingers along the leg of his jeans. "Just waiting for you to either say something I'm not already painfully aware of or run out of steam."

Martha stands and smooths the minute wrinkles out of her skirt. "I'm only worried about you, darling. You're far too talented and handsome to become a middle-aged has-been."

"Your concern is touching, Mother," Rick says, eyes flicking up toward her before darting back to the screen. "Truly." He places one hand on the lid of his laptop, thumb pressed against the seam where top and bottom meet. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to try to stave off becoming a depressing double hyphenate for a little while longer."

Martha huffs a little sigh and glides from the room, leaving behind her usual cloud of Chanel No. 5 and disappointment.

Rick opens the computer and double clicks on the document he started at the coffee shop. A dozen pages worth of text fill the screen, more than he's written in one session - hell, at all - in at least two years. The words buzz in his fingertips, a swarm of angry little bees stabbing through his skin from the inside out. Taking a deep breath, he places the cursor at the end of the document and lets his hands hover over the keyboard.

He starts slowly, pecking out single letters that turn into words and then sentences. Before he's really aware of what's happening, he's fingers are flying over the keys, pounding out paragraphs as fast as his brain can spin them. He gets lost in the story, in the world he's created. The world that revolves around a tall brunette with sadness behind her eyes and a slanted smile. He swims through the story, only coming up for quick gulps of reality when he absolutely has to.

The backs of his eyes sting when he breaks the surface for good, shoulders aching and neck stiff. Lights glow beyond the bay window in his office, the city lit up for a good time. Rick stands with a groan. He presses his fists into the small of his back and stretches, relishing the deep burn of his muscles. Satisfaction and pride simmer low in his gut and he walks out of the office with his head held high for the first time in - well, longer than he can remember or cares to admit.

"Whoa, it walks."

Rick bends at the waist as he passes the corner of the couch his kid has tucked herself into, pressing a quick kiss to the damp crown of her head.

"You're hilarious."

"I'm aware," Alexis says, putting her copy of _Catcher in the Rye_ facedown on the coffee table and wrinkling her nose at him. "You're smelly."

"I'm aware," Rick retorts, flicking the tip of one of her ears. "Food then a shower. Speaking of food," he says over his shoulder on the way into the kitchen, "those cinnamon rolls are delicious. You really nailed the dough this time."

"Thanks. I found this article online that said adding mashed potato to the mixture makes it extra soft."

"Mashed potato? Weird. But hey," he says, pulling open the refrigerator door and reaching for the packet of sliced ham he picked up at the deli the day before, "it worked."

Alexis unfolds herself from the couch and follows him into the kitchen. She sits at the counter and watches as he throws together a hasty sandwich, slapping the ham and a slice of pepper jack between two pieces of rye. His mustard knife clatters in the sink and she jumps a little.

"You okay, Pumpkin?"

She nods, her wet hair swinging in clumps against her shoulders. "Yeah, I'm good. How was your writing?"

Rick doesn't need to tap into his super special dad senses to know she's deflecting but he lets it slide anyway, answering her question around a mouthful of sandwich.

"Good. I got myself into a groove and it just flowed." His whistle when he looks at his watch sends little rye crumbs flying across the countertop. " _Really_ flowed," he says, dropping the sandwich and reaching for a bottle of water. "It's almost eleven. Shouldn't you be in bed?"

Her yawn comes almost on cue. "Yeah, I'm heading up in a minute. I was waiting to talk to you first."

Ricks slides his plate and water around to her side of the counter and hoists himself up onto the stool next to hers. He takes another bite, trying like hell to keep up the cool dad persona he's worked so hard to cultivate over her almost fifteen years of life.

"Talk away, Pumpkin."

"So," Alexis starts, right index finger picking at the cuticle of her left, "Mom called this afternoon."

"She did?"

Alexis nods again, eyes darting around to focus on anything other than him. "Yeah. She wanted to tell me that she's coming here for Christmas."

Finishing off the last of his dinner, Rick puts his hand over his kid's, stilling her nervous fidgeting. "That's great, Alexis. I'm happy you're going to get to see your mother on Christmas."

She looks up at him, her eyes apologetic. "It's not just Christmas, Dad. She's going to be here the whole month of December. She has some auditions and some big party she says she needs to go to in order to impress some director whose movie she's trying to get into. But it's not just her," Alexis continues, barely inhaling as the rest of it rushes out. "Bryan is coming too. And, Dad, they're engaged."

Anger flares inside Rick's chest. Not because his ex-wife is going to be in the city for an entire month or even that she'll be there with the man she left him for. He doesn't care about that anymore. Much, anyway.

It's the look on his kid's face, the worry and the anxiety he can see creasing her forehead, that pisses him off. Leave it to Meredith to assign a fourteen-year-old the task of delivering news she knows he doesn't want to hear.

Hell, it's a wonder she didn't have Alexis be the one to tell him she was leaving.

"That's great news," Rick says, injecting as much cheer into his voice as he possibly can.

Alexis looks at him, head cocking to one side in obvious disbelief.

"Really?"

"Of course," he tells her, squeezing her hands. "I want your mom to be happy, Alexis." Preferably on the other side of the country but... still. "And if she's happy with Bryan, then I'm happy for her. For them."

A beat passes and Alexis stares at him, her wise beyond their years eyes picking apart his face, searching for any hint of dishonesty. Finally she relaxes, her shoulders dropping down from their station near her ears.

"Okay," she says, nodding and stifling another yawn. "Good."

"Very good," Rick reassures her, standing up and pressing his hands against her shoulders to nudge her off the stool. He pushes her toward the staircase. "Now go to bed, my little Mary Berry. Dream of dough and tents and all the delicious holiday treats you're going to make your old man."

"Night, Dad," she says, waving one hand as she trudges up the stairs. "Love you."

"Love you too, Pumpkin."

Rick waits for the snick of her bedroom door before putting his plate in the sink and shutting off all the overhead lights. He leaves the light over the stove on, an old habit from when Alexis was little and too scared to come downstairs at night if there wasn't at least one light burning.

His shower is quick and rote, an autopilot scrubbing of his hair and body. Flannel pants and a long sleeved t-shirt, his standard winter pajamas, hang off a hook on the back of the bathroom door and he slips them on over still mostly damp skin before shuffling out into the darkness of his bedroom. The sheets are cool and a little slippery against his bare feet and he sighs at the simple pleasure of it. He's almost asleep, brain in that woozy, in and out state of near unconsciousness, when the full weight of it hits him for the first time and his tired eyes pop open.

His ex-wife and her fiance are going to be in New York for the entire month of December.

Just when he thought he thought he couldn't dislike Christmas more.

Bah-humbug.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._


	2. Chapter 2

Christmas has invaded his home.

Rick averts his eyes from the tree in the middle of the living room, the lights off but still somehow glowing in the afternoon sun. A stack of presents, each one wrapped perfectly in golden paper and decorated with a pristine white bow, already sits under it, ready to be passed out to Alexis' friends and teachers over the coming weeks. An electric train sits idle on its track, all set to take the little plastic passengers on a trip through a cotton and ceramic winter wonderland with the flick of a switch.

There's truly no escape from it now.

He doesn't really mind the decorations in the loft. The weekend after Thanksgiving tradition of putting them up - _White Christmas_ playing on the television and drinking so much hot chocolate that he and Alexis both inevitably end up with stomach aches - still brings him joy. Truly. His kid loves Christmas and he's not ever going to do anything to ruin that for her. Sometimes, though, it'd be nice to just have a damn break from it all.

"Off to hide, Richard?"

Rick rolls his eyes, arms slipping into the thick sleeves of his coat. "I'm going to write, Mother, not hide."

"Yes, and you've somehow managed to time this writing excursion for the exact hour that your ex-wife and her new fiance are due to arrive." Martha lifts her mug of coffee and takes a delicate sip. "Not very subtle, my darling."

"And we all know that you are the supreme authority on subtlety," Rick tosses back, slinging the strap of his computer bag over one shoulder.

"Just as you are the authority on avoidance."

"Meredith and Bryan are going to be here the entire month," he says, cringing a little at the reminder. "I'm sure we'll all see quite enough of each other." Rick tugs on his gloves and straightens his coat. "Alexis is meeting them after school for a late lunch that I'm sure will turn into a shopping excursion. I'll see them -" he waves a hand - "some time."

"Perhaps you should try to meet a nice woman while you're out not avoiding," Martha advises, putting her her coffee cup into the sink and striding toward the stairs in that regal way he's always passively admired. If there's one thing Martha Rodgers is truly the authority on, it's commanding attention. "Give Meredith a little run for her money."

"Divorce isn't a competition, Mother."

"Perhaps not," she concedes, spine straight as she ascends the the stairs, a silk scarf fluttering over one shoulder. "But wouldn't it still be nice to win?"

* * *

Rick can't stop himself from looking over his shoulder as he stands in line at Starbucks. The septuagenarian behind him smiles the first two times but by the fifth she's scowling and muttering under her breath. The clearing of a throat pulls his attention forward once and for all and Rick steps up to the counter to place his order. He resists the urge to give his name as Scrooge when the cashier asks and chooses to believe it's an honest mistake as he watches her scribble "Dick" on the cup instead of Rick.

Multiple open tables dot the seating area and Rick picks the one closest to an outlet, grateful that he somehow managed to time his visit with the afternoon lull. He settles in, the neck and arms of his coat hanging backward off the chair, and opens his document. Electricity zips down his spine when he sees the word count pop up at the bottom of the page. Almost twenty thousand words. The most he's written in at least two years. He knows the majority of it will end up unusable, that the count will shrink and change as he goes back in and tries to edit the random scenes into a coherent story, but for now he's proud.

Proud and ready for more.

The music and chatter turns into background noise as Rick starts to write, his usually clumsy fingers moving deftly over the keys, eyes flicking back and forth between the screen and his hands, a habit he's never quite been able to break. He hits a wall an hour in, a reinforced steel dam slamming down and cutting off the flow of words midstream. Sighing, he saves the documents, rocking his fingers three times over the correct sequence of keys, and stands.

"Hey, will you watch my stuff?" He asks the woman in casual business attire at the next table as he tosses his empty coffee cup toward the recycle bin. "I'm going to go get a refill."

The woman nods without ever looking up from her phone. "Sure."

Casting frequent glances back toward his table, Rick joins the end of the line. He bounces his knees and flexes his fingers, trying to jiggle himself back into writing. The bell over the door sounds and he catches himself in mid-turn. Ridiculous.

"Yeah, Lanie, I'm here now. Take your time. I'll just wait."

The muscles in his neck scream in protest as his head whips around.

"Grinch."

The woman's head jerks up, the curled ends of her hair swinging against her collar, and it takes a second longer than he'd hoped for recognition to flash in her eyes. The left side of her mouth lifts just a fraction as she tucks her cell phone into the pocket of her knee length houndstooth coat.

"Scrooge," she chuckles.

"That's me." He lifts one hand in a lame little wave. "Well, actually, it's Rick."

"Damn. I was really hoping to say I got to meet an Ebenezer."

"Don't lose hope," Rick says, stepping backward as the line moves up. "People these days are giving their kids dumber names than ever. Ebenezer might just make a comeback."

"I'm actually meeting a friend here so we can go set up her baby registry," the woman says, one hand moving to lightly pat the pocket where she tucked her phone. "I'm definitely putting Ebenezer on her list of names now. She owes me."

"There you go," Rick nods. "Be the change you want to see."

She laughs again, a husky sound that makes his own ribcage vibrate against his muscles in a strange but wholly enjoyable way. A throat clears behind him and Rick turns around to find the same annoyed barista staring at him from the other side of the counter.

"Sorry," Rick says, fishing his wallet out of his back pocket. "May I please have a grande cappuccino? And," he continues, angling his body back toward the woman, "whatever she'd like."

"Oh, no," she protests, one hand lifting in mild protest. "You don't need to do that."

"But I'd like to. What with the disappointment of my name and all," he says, smiling.

"If you're sure?" Rick nods and he can hear the cashier rapidly tapping the butt of her marker against the side of the register. "Okay," she says, eyes flicking from his to the barista. "A grande latte with two pumps sugar free vanilla, please."

"Your name?" The girl asks in a dull voice, very obviously over the interaction.

The woman's eyes jump back to his and she pushes an errant strand of brunette hair behind her ear as she answers. "Kate."

Rick gives his own name for his order and pays, dropping a couple of extra dollars into the tip cup next to the register. They move down to wait and he stuffs his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, a sudden sheepishness sweeping over him.

"Nice to meet you, Kate," he says, voice raised a little in counterpoint to the steamy hiss of the milk frother.

Her eyes lock with his for a moment and his heart does a funny little stutter step. Kate smiles, chin dipping toward her chest in a modified bow. "Nice to meet you, Rick."

They watch the two baristas dance behind the counter as they work in tandem make the line of drinks and Rick finds himself a little awed by how _not_ uncomfortable it is. Usually after making small talk with a stranger, there's that awkward lull where neither person is sure what to say next or if they even should at all. But not this time. He's perfectly content standing quietly next to this woman and watching their coffee be prepared.

The baristas finish their ballet, pressing the white plastic lids onto their cups almost simultaneously.

"Rick? Kate?" One of them calls, holding the cups out in their direction.

Rick takes the one closest to him, thumb rubbing at the oversized and a slightly sloppy K scribbled on the side. "I think we got mixed up," he says, slipping a cardboard sleeve onto the cup before offering it to her.

"Thanks," Kate says, the tips of their fingers brushing as they exchange drinks.

The cafe has picked up again, every table hosting a laptop and at least one frazzled looking occupant. Rick nods toward the two top where his computer and coat still are. "I have a spare chair. Wanna sit while you wait for your friend?"

Kate's eyes zip around the seating area before she nods. "That'd be great."

They squeeze through the messy rows of occupied tables, both of them mumbling polite apologies as they bump into shoulders and bags. Rick gets to the table first and starts packing away his computer as Kate edges past one last stroller. The woman he'd asked to keep an eye on it left, her seat filled now by a young mother with a cherub cheeked toddler sleeping on her shoulder, and Rick takes a moment to check inside his laptop bag and make sure nothing has gone missing.

"Oh, you don't need to stop for me," Kate says, sitting down opposite him, her spine straight and long legs crossing. She takes a sip of her coffee and Rick watches as her eyes flutter in obvious delight for half a second before she composes herself. "I can entertain myself until Lanie gets here."

"The words are gone for today," Rick tells her, wrapping the length of his charger around his hand. "They packed their bags, stuck out their thumbs, and hitched a ride right out of here."

The corners of her mouth curl behind the lid of her cup. "Sounds like a few might still be lingering."

"Nah, that's just what my daughter likes to call my overdeveloped flair for the dramatic," Rick explains, tucking the charger and laptop into the bag.

"It doesn't sound like she's wrong."

"Probably not," Rick concedes with a grin. "But she's a teenage girl. She lives in a glass house when it comes to dramatic flair."

Kate nods. "They usually do."

"But she's a great kid," he clarifies quickly, not wanting to give an incorrect impression of Alexis even to this beautiful stranger. "Truly. Between Alexis, her mother, and _my_ mother, the fourteen year old generally comes out ahead in terms of maturity."

She laughs again and the tips of his fingers buzz a little, eyes flicking to the now powered off computer resting inside his laptop bag.

Maybe the words aren't completely gone.

"You left yourself off that list, Ebenezer."

Rick lifts a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Are you, a woman I have been acquainted with for all of five minutes, implying that I lack the emotional maturity of a teenage girl?"

"If the overly dramatic shoe fits," Kate says, shoulders dropping and spine curving as she relaxes against the back of the wooden chair. She sips her coffee and raises an eyebrow, a move he takes as a silent dare to dispute her assumption.

"Just call me Cinderella." Rick taps the toe of his shoe against hers under the table. "Maturity is overrated anyway."

"Are you sure you should be in charge of raising a child?"

Rick gives her a shrugging nod. "Well, she pretty much raises herself but yeah. I even have it in writing from the very nice family court judge who granted me primary custody. Because, believe it or not, I'm actually the more mature and stable parent."

"Really? Is her mother also a teenager?"

"Actress."

Her left eyebrow lifts to meet her right. "Ah. That would explain it."

A choking laugh catches in his throat and Rick sips at his coffee. "And _my_ mother? Also an actress," he says. "Which should explain more."

Kate's elbow rests on the table and she nods, her sly grin ruining the illusion of grave understanding. "So much more."

A chime sounds from Rick's bag and he fishes out his phone. "Sorry," he says even as she waves it off. "It might be my daughter."

Of course it isn't.

 _Meredith's new ring is four times the size of the one you gave her. She is most certainly winning, kiddo._

"Speak of the shrew who needs very badly to be tamed," he says, waving the phone at Kate. "Here she is now with yet another reminder that my ex-wife remains in first place in the Divorce Olympics."

Kate hums sympathetically and his phone chimes again.

 _There's a darling young ingenue in my acting class, Richard. Petite, blonde, and dumb as a bag of sand but very talented. She would definitely make Meredith see green. I'll give her your telephone number._

"And we have meddling," Rick announces, twisting his wrist to look at a imaginary watch. "Right on cue."

He doesn't even bother answering his mother. There's no point. She's going to do whatever she wants, just as she always has. Rick slides the phone back into the side pocket of his bag. Kate looks at him, head cocked to one side in question.

"My ex-wife is in town with her new fiancé," he explains, "and so my mother, in all her infinite wisdom, has decided what I need is to be set up with a young, dumb - her words - actress. To win, as it were."

"And you don't want that?"

"Well, considering I ended up marrying and subsequently divorcing the last actress I allowed my mother to set me up with, no," Rick says, thumbnail picking at the lid of his coffee. "I just need to make it through the next month. Then Meredith will go back to California and my mother will hopefully stop trying to marry me off to the next Meryl Streep."

Kate sighs. "I envy that timeline."

Rick cocks his head to the side in question this time. "Why?"

"Because you at least have a potential end to the madness. I don't." Kate twists the cardboard sleeve around her cup, her shoulders slumping forward. "You know that friend I'm meeting here?"

"Lanie, right?"

She nods. "Yeah. Lanie. She's my best friend and I love her but she just got married. And she's pregnant. So."

Rick stares at her in silence. Kate chuckles and shakes her head.

"I guess even with a teenage daughter, an ex-wife, and a mother, you don't speak girl."

"I speak it but am far from fluent," Rick grins. "Care to translate?"

Even as she laughs at him, that dark shadow of sadness he'd noticed in her eyes deepens and Rick finds himself wanting to scoot his chair around to her side of the little bistro table. His fingers curl instead around the thin paper cup as he forces himself not to lean forward and tease out whatever story she's keeping trapped behind those lovely lips.

"Lanie found her version of happy," Kate tells him, something he thinks might be just a hint of envy in her voice. "Now she wants to help me find mine which, in her hormone soaked and well intentioned mind, means setting me up on a series of blind dates with men she thinks are perfect for me."

"And you don't want that?" He asks, parroting her earlier question.

"No. Especially not right now. Christmas is -" Her words trail off into a deep silence he very much wants to wade into and she lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "Well, I'm not a fan."

Rick taps the tip of a finger against his temple. "I recall."

"And I'm even less of a fan of being set up. Unfortunately, it looks like I'm not going to be able to escape either."

Something inside his brain clicks into place, a thunderclap of brilliance that sends him jerking forward in his chair. The table rocks and Kate jumps, one hand moving to her hip as her eyes widen. Gripping the side of the table with both hands, Rick leans forward, his entire body vibrating with the absolute genius of it all.

"We should date," he blurts, all elegance of the proposal lost to the burn of excited expediency. "For Christmas."

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._


	3. Chapter 3

Kate's head rocks back on her neck as though he's just slapped her across the face. "Excuse me?"

"It's perfect," Rick says, still caught up in the brilliance of the plan as it unfurls inside his mind. "You don't want to be set up on boring blind dates by your friend, right? And I don't want to be set up with intellectually challenged ingenues by my mother. So we -" he waves hand between them, knocking over his mostly empty coffee cup - "just date each other. Problem solved."

All the tension he'd watched leak out of her muscles over the last ten minutes comes rushing back, pulling her spine up into a steel beam. "I don't even know you."

Realizing suddenly how he must look to her, Rick lifts his hands in a gesture of surrender and leans back in his chair. "Sorry," he says, working to make the words come out at a normal speed and pitch. "I got a little carried away."

"Obviously," Kate says, legs uncrossing as she perches on the edge of her chair.

"But," Rick continues, a little desperate to explain before she can make the exit she's planning, "I think if you hear me out, you might agree that this is a good idea."

"Dating you?"

" _Pretend_ dating me," he says, unable to control the lift of his voice as the excitement takes back over. "Just for the next month. It's perfect."

"I don't know you," Kate repeats, eyes narrow and mouth a thin line.

"Sure you do." Rick lifts one hand, uses his fingers to count off the facts. "You know my name is Rick. You know I have a daughter. You know I'm a writer. You know I have a meddling mother, an ex-wife, and a deep dislike of the holiday season. See," he says, holding his right hand out toward her, fingers splayed, "that's more than a single hand's worth of things you know about me."

"And you're crazy. You can add another finger for that one."

Rick does, letting his grin come back out to play. "Now we're up to a hand and a half."

"Which is an entire hand more than you know about me."

"We can fix that," Rick says, closing his fingers down into loose fists. "Watch. Your name is Kate." He lifts his right thumb. "Your best friend is Lanie and she's desperate to get you married off." Up goes the index. "You hate Christmas more than I do." Rick lifts his middle finger, waggling all three digits. "See, we're halfway there."

"You're ridiculous," Kate says, high heels clicking against the slate floor as she shifts her weight onto one foot. "This is ridiculous."

"Kate, wait," Rick says, half-rising as she does. "Please just hear me out and then if you still think I'm crazy, you can leave and never have to see me again."

"I can do that anyway."

"True. But you're intrigued," Rick says, still hovering over his seat, eyes locked with hers. "I can tell."

Mariah Carey warbles about what she wants for Christmas over the cafe speakers as they stare at one another. Kate's eyes flit across his face and Rick puts on his most innocent and trustworthy smile, tries to make himself look as un-crazy as possible.

"Come on," he cajoles, quads quivering with the effort of holding himself up.

Her coat makes a soft fwump against the wooden seat of the chair when she drops down. "You have three minutes."

His knees give out and Rick plops into his chair with far less grace. "Thank you."

She nods at him, eyes still narrow and assessing. Her right hand flits back to her hip and questions overrun his mind like shoppers on a Black Friday sale. Rick pushes them away, determined to stay focused on the task of convincing her to agree to his plan.

"It's the holidays, right? What does that mean? Parties. A ton of them. I have at least half a dozen to attend and I'm sure you do too."

"I have a couple of work functions," Kate admits, the muscles in her jaw loosening a bit.

"Of course you do. Who doesn't? Now," Rick leans forward and lowers his voice, aware that the woman at the next table has been eavesdropping on their conversation, "wouldn't it be nice to have yourself a handsome and charming date lined up -" he jabs a thumb at his own chest - "rather than trying to fight off your matchmaking friend or have to deal with pitying looks and snide comments from busy bodies when you show up alone?"

"What kind of awful people do you attend parties with?"

Rick laughs. "The publishing and entertainment industries aren't known for their warm and welcoming attitudes."

"Clearly."

Kate turns her head toward the door, her profile backlit by the late afternoon sunlight spilling through the windows of the cafe. The sharp lines of her nose of and chin fascinate him, make him want to reach out and run the tip of his finger over the angle of her jaw until he reaches that soft roundness at the apple of her cheek. Rick curls his hands around his knees to keep them in place, chews on the tip of his tongue as he waits her out.

"This is crazy," she says again, turning back to him. "Look, Rick -" Kate tucks her phone away again and leans into the table, a softness in her eyes that makes some strange place inside his chest start to ache - "I'm sure you're a nice guy. _Insane_ but nice. I just don't think -"

"Kate!" A voice trills and they both look around.

A woman, her round face split wide in a smile and one hand resting on the gentle curve of her belly, waves from just inside the door. A man, tall and with a perfectly styled head of blonde hair, stands next to her, an overly toothy grin making him look a little too much like Christian Bale in _American Psycho_ for Rick's comfort.

"Is that Lanie?"

Kate nods without looking back at him.

"Is that her husband?"

Her head shakes.

"Oh."

Her hair catches at her collar as she looks back at him over her shoulder, hazel eyes almost golden. Gracefully, she stands, hand slipping into her pocket only to come right back out with a cream colored business card tucked between two fingers.

"I'm in."

The card flutters to the table as she turns to walk away and he snatches at it, palms a little sweaty. Rick watches her greet her friend, the stiffness in her spine belying the lilt in her voice. He flips the card over, an orchestra of childlike glee striking up inside his chest.

 _Captain Kate Beckett, New York Police Department_

Hot damn.

* * *

The card burns a hole in his pocket all the way through dinner with his mother and a download about her day from his kid. He fingers the sharp corner of it, standing at the bottom of the stairs and watching Alexis and Martha as they go up, chattering away about the contents of the shopping bags hanging off his daughter's arms.

"Alexis, you still have school tomorrow," he calls after them. "Don't stay up too late playing fashion show with Gram."

"I won't," Alexis shouts back. "G'night, Dad."

Rick listens to them for a moment longer, his teenage daughter and far from teenage mother giggling over clothes and makeup. He'd had his doubts about Martha moving into the loft, but watching the relationship between her and Alexis blossom has put them to rest.

"So, tell me about this charming young man you met today," his mother says, her musical voice floating down the stairs. "Is there a holiday romance brewing?"

Mostly.

Huffing out a sigh, Rick flips off the lights in the kitchen and entryway. He makes his way into the office, the loft lit only by the gentle twinkle of white light from the tree. The card comes out of his pocket easily, the thick paper left soft and pliable by the heat of his body. A number marked as her cell sits sandwiched between the line for her office and her NYPD email address. Rick types the numbers into his own cell phone, a giddy smile he doesn't even try to reign in spreading over his lips.

She answers on the third ring.

"Beckett."

Yeah, that's awesome. He's totally going to start answering the phone with just his last name.

"Kate? It's Rick. From Starbucks."

Smooth. Real smooth.

"Hello, Rick from Starbucks," she says, the sharp edge of her greeting softening a little on his name.

"So how was the setup?" He asks, dropping down into his leather desk chair. "Has Lanie found you the one?"

Her answering snort spreads his smile even wider. "Hardly. He was about as boring as a human being can be while still breathing."

"Wow," Rick says, voice shaking with amusement. "And that's the best Lanie can do?"

Rick rocks back in the chair, swinging his feet up onto the desk. Ankles crossing, he looks through the makeshift viewfinder of his big toes at the illuminated skyline outside his office window. His mind wanders and he pictures Kate - _Captain Beckett_ \- in a similar position, her slim body swallowed by an oversized black leather chair tucked behind an antique wooden desk. His eyes flick to the armchair where he dropped his computer bag, the edge of his laptop just visible where the flap has slid open, and the fingers of his left hand start to tap phantom keys against his thigh.

"She's getting pretty desperate," Kate says on a sigh. "I've shot down every other man she's found. She's going to start setting me up with her patients eventually."

"That doesn't sound too bad," Rick shrugs. "Patients are people too."

"She's a coroner."

Laughter explodes from the back of his throat like buckshot and Rick slaps a hand over his mouth in a useless attempt to control the scatter.

"Well," he mumbles through his fingers, "I guess it's good you met me then."

"That's yet to be determined."

"Oh come on, Captain," he says, trying her title on for size. "I have a pulse _and_ a personality. That's better than the other options currently filling your dance card."

Kate lets out a resigned sigh and he gives in to the urge to pump his fist in victory.

"I cannot believe I'm agreeing to this," she says and he hears the soft rasp of skin against skin, imagines her rubbing her fingers against one pounding temple.

"Neither can I," Rick admits, his cheeks starting to ache from the grin he can't turn off. "But you are. And who knows, Captain Beckett, you just might end up enjoying yourself."

"I sincerely doubt it will come to that. This is just a way to make it through the next month with our sanity intact," Kate says, a firm proclamation in her tone. "And we need rules. Guidelines."

"Such as?"

"We keep this surface level. No deep dives into each other's personal lives or histories."

"I'll agree to that but we are going to have to share _some_ things," Rick points out, "in order to pass as a believable couple. A few facts aren't going to cut it."

Kate sighs again and he hears the pop of a cork releasing from glass. "Maybe this isn't -"

"Kate, listen," Rick cuts in, feet falling from the desk as he sits up. "I know this is crazy and probably really stupid. And I understand that you have reservations. I do to, believe it or not. But I promise -" his hand tightens around the phone until the tips of his fingers tingle - "I'll make this work. For both of us."

Her lips smack softly and he hears the bob of her throat as she swallows.

"You better," she says, voice as dry as the wine he imagines she's drinking. "Because I have a gun, Rick, and I _will_ use it."

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._


	4. Chapter 4

Rick stands in front of the mirror in his closet, blue dress shirt half buttoned and his socked toes curling into the plush carpet. Narrowing his eyes, he holds a tie against his chest with his right hand before switching to another in his left. The silk ends of the fabric flutter in the breeze he creates as he moves them back and forth, corners of his mouth tilted down in frustration.

"Both of those are terrible."

The ties slip from his fingers as he spins, a yelp caught in the back of his throat. Alexis laughs at him from her perch on the end of his bed.

"When did you get here?" Rick asks, hands moving to work on the buttons of his shirt.

"About four sets ago," Alexis says, pulling the end of her french braid over one shoulder. She presses her finger into the middle of the fringe, spreading it out into little ginger spikes. "You should wear the purple and red one. It's festive but not _too_ festive."

He grabs her suggested tie from the collection hanging off the side of the mirror and walks out into the bedroom, hand extended. "Help your old man out?"

With a nod, Alexis climbs onto her knees and loops the fabric around his neck. The left side of her mouth droops down into a frown as she ties the knot and a cold slick of worry slithers through his chest.

"You okay, Pumpkin?"

Alexis pushes the finished knot toward his neck and falls back down onto her haunches on the bed. Seemingly not content to stay idle, her hands flit back to the end of her braid. She fiddles with it, eyes darting to anything in the room other than his face.

"Alexis, honey, what's wrong?" he asks, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

Her head shakes even as the question comes spilling out. "Why are you doing this?"

"Going to a party?" Rick asks, playing dumb. "I RSVP'd. It'd be rude not to."

Alexis rolls her eyes at him, something he's noticed happening a lot more over the last couple of years. "No, Dad," she says, the words weighted with so much sarcasm that he actually feels them hit his eardrums. "Why are you going to a party with a perfect stranger you've somehow convinced to pretend to date you. I mean, the fact that you were even able to talk her into this is a huge red flag. Have you thought about that? What kind of person agrees to pretend to date someone they just freaking met in a Starbucks."

Rick raises a hand and smothers a smile as her eyes roll again.

"You're you."

"I should hope so," he says, patting his upper body as if to double check as he stands up. "I like being me." Most of the time. "Although who are the other options? I could be open to a change."

"Dad, be serious. You know what I mean. I just - this is ridiculous."

Rick stands in front of the mirror, straightening the ends of his tie. He attaches the little typewriter tie-clip Alexis gave him for father's day a few years ago and buttons his cuffs, gaze flicking over his reflection. A little tired around the eyes and he could stand to lose a few pounds - damn his mother for being right about the pastries - but all in all, not too bad.

"Kate said the same thing," Rick says, grabbing his shoes and plopping down onto the edge of the bed.

"Well, that's a point in her favor at least," Alexis sighs as he slips his right foot into the loafer and wiggles his toes. "I just don't understand why you're doing this. Are you that upset about Mom and Bryan? I thought you were okay with it."

Rick slides on his other shoe and looks at his kid, reads the worry on her face. "Alexis," he says, dropping his voice down into the soothing Dad tone he's spent the last fourteen and a half years perfecting, "this has nothing to do with your mother and Bryan."

One ginger eyebrow lifts and he chuckles at himself.

"Okay, it has a little to do with them. But only a _very_ little. Mostly because their engagement has given me the push I need to put myself back out there again."

"And a fake girlfriend for Christmas is the way to do that?"

"Well, I didn't have time to find a real one," Rick says on a shrug. He stands and grabs a sport coat off the hanger, tries to swing it on over his head in that badass way Martin Sheen does on _The West Wing_. "Kate is great," he assures her, wincing at the accidental rhyme. "From what I can tell so far, she's funny and smart and -"

"A knockout."

In a moment of deja vu, Rick turns around and this time finds Martha standing in the door of his bedroom, her iPhone held out in his direction. He can just barely make out Kate's face on the screen, her mouth a serious line and a stiff blue hat perched on top of her head.

"What is it with the women in this family and sneaking up on people?" He asks, grabbing his wallet and phone off the dresser as he brushes past his mother. "I'm gonna have to repurpose some of those jingle bells, hang them off your necks so I can hear you coming."

"Wow, she is pretty," Alexis says, taking the phone from her grandmother as they both follow him across the loft. "Like, _really_ pretty."

"And even in that shapeless polyester that passes for a police uniform," Martha points out, taking the phone back and waggling it in his direction again. "I had my concerns about the quality of a last minute date found at Starbucks, but you done good, kiddo."

"Did you Google my date, Mother?"

"Only in the capacity of parental due diligence," Martha says, one red tipped finger swiping at the screen. She hums, tilting the phone so Alexis can see whatever she's pulled up now. "I had to make sure you weren't getting yourself into one of those cat trap situations."

"It's catfish, Gram," Alexis snorts. "Not cat trap."

"And it doesn't apply here," Rick points out, grabbing a bottle of water from the refrigerator, "seeing as I've already met her. Okay," he says, patting his pockets to make sure he has everything he needs, "I'm out of here."

"If you're not home by midnight, I'm calling the police," Alexis warns as he dusts a quick kiss to the top of her head.

"Kate _is_ the police," he reminds her.

"Don't care. Still calling."

His mother taps a finger at new picture of Kate she's pulled up on her phone. "And if you're home before ten, I'm calling the men in the white coats."

"Goodnight, Pumpkin," he says, ignoring his mother on the way out the door. "I'll text you if I'm going to be late."

Her goodnight follows him down the hall. He hits the button to call the elevator, tells himself that the moisture on his palms is from the sweating bottle of water, nothing more.

* * *

The car door hums as he thumbs the button for the automatic window, cracking the glass a half an inch. Rick leans toward the stream of fresh air and inhales, his eyes closing as the sharp coolness stings his nose.

"I can turn the heat off if you'd like," the driver offers, one gloved hand already reaching for the control knob.

"No, it's okay," Rick says, pushing the other side of button this time. The window slides into place and he straightens in the seat. "Thank you, though."

He picks his phone up off the seat, waking the screen for the fifth time in the ten minutes to check his texting app for a little red notification bubble. Still nothing. She's standing him up, isn't she? Son of a bitch.

Dammit, he hates Christmas.

He's halfway through the process of ordering himself a ticket to an eight o'clock showing of the new Marvel movie - because there is no way in hell he is going home this early to deal with the knowing looks from his kid or the pitying sighs from his mother - when the phone buzzes. Rick jumps, juggling the device in mid-air like an electronic hot potato. By the time he has a grip on it again, the little bar at the top of the screen has disappeared and he has to switch over to the message app to retrieve it.

 _Sorry, I got hung up at the precinct. Running late. I'll be downstairs in five._

Oh, thank God.

His shoulders roll back as he types back a quick response, spine straightening as he opens himself back up. He switches back to the web browser and closes the tab for the movie theater, slips the phone into the inside pocket of his jacket.

The driver parks outside her building and Rick climbs out. He leans against the trunk of the car, hands tucked in the pockets of his slacks and ankles crossed. Lights twist around the metal poles holding up the awning over the front door of her building, climbing up like white twinkling vines. His eyes bounce from apartment to apartment, taking in the varying displays of holiday cheer. A construction paper and cotton ball snowman waves at him from a second floor window and Rick grins, memories of all the glue and glitter heavy handmade decorations Alexis used to bring home from school filling his chest with a fuzzy warmth.

The security door opens, metal hinges squeaking in the cold, and Rick forces himself not to jump to attention. He pushes off the trunk of the car, picturing himself a modern - and stockier - James Dean, and lifts a hand in a casual wave. The no nonsense click of her heels against the concrete makes his heart rate spike a little as he reaches for the smooth, cold handle of the door.

"Sorry," she says, gloved hand pushing a windblown curl off her cheek. "I didn't mean to keep you waiting."

"We weren't here long," Rick assures her, pulling open the door and waving her in with one hand. She slides into the car, the royal purple skirt of her cocktail dress just visible below the hem of her black coat. "And even if we had been, you, Captain Beckett, are more than worth the wait."

Her eyes shimmer with the reflected glow of the twinkle lights as she looks up at him from inside the car, a faint pink stain spreading across her cheeks. Rick closes the door and grins to himself as he jogs around to the other side. The blush has faded from her face by the time he slides in next to her, making sure to stop with a respectable distance between their thighs.

"So," Rick says, watching as she folds her hands over the the small evening bag in her lap, "being a captain in the NYPD must pay well for you to be able to afford a place like that."

Kate looks at him, an eyebrow lifting. "Is that a question or a statement?"

"Question masquerading as statement," Rick confesses with a shrug. "I thought that was pretty obvious."

She snorts softly and he feels a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. "It was. But it was also pretty damn personal and that," she jabs a finger into the middle of the seat between them, "very clearly is on the other side of the line we agreed not to cross."

"Right," Rick says. "Keep it in the shallow end."

Kate nods, turning to look out the window as they make their way through midtown. Rick watches her watch the scenery, that fuzzy warmth still clinging to the insides of his ribs. A dozen questions run through his mind and he has to physically bite the end of his tongue to stop himself from blurting them out.

He wants to know so much - what it's like to be a high ranking woman in a male dominated field, if she chases down bad guys in those heels, why she decided to become a cop, if her career is why she doesn't date, is that her natural hair color, do her eyes always turn that particular shade of olive green when she's amused.

The chime of an incoming text interrupts his slow slide into insanity. Rick pulls out his phone and chuckles. Kate looks over, head tilted to one side and he nods at the phone as he types a response to Alexis.

"My daughter checking to make sure I haven't been taken hostage," he explains. "She was a little worried about this whole situation."

"Welcome to the club," Kate murmurs and he grins. "You did," she says, her voice louder now, "tell her that I'm a cop, right?"

"Of course," he says, hitting send on the text and slipping the phone back into his pocket. "She did not find it as reassuring as I'd hoped. So periodic proof of life texts it is."

"That's actually kinda sweet." Her upper body twists toward his, the highlights in her hair shining gold under the flash of the streetlights. "You guys are close?"

Rick nods. "Alexis is the best thing that ever happened to me. I always thought that being a writer was my dream. The thing I was meant to do. Then I became a dad."

Kate's eyes crawl over his face, the ghost of a smile playing along her mouth. The invisible line connecting her shoulders to her ears slackens and he watches as she relaxes a little against the soft leather seat.

"You love it."

"Oh yeah," Rick agrees, his own body relaxing in response to hers. "There are ups and downs, of course. Her middle school obsession with Korean pop music was a definite down," he says in a conspiratorial whisper as Kate laughs. "But being her dad is the greatest adventure of my life. I wouldn't trade it for anything."

Not even after the drawn out divorce and contentious custody battle.

"She's the reason I haven't given up on Christmas altogether," Rick confesses, eyes drifting from Kate's face to stare at the city passing by. "She loves it and I've always tried to make it special for her. I just want her to have those sort of Norman Rockwell memories of Christmas to look back on and cherish. Especially since her mother left."

The sound of tires on pavement fills the interior of the car, a dull drone that numbs his mind and frees his tongue.

"She left on Christmas, actually," Rick says, hands curling into loose fists at the memory. "Well, Christmas Eve. She'd been in LA for the entire month before, filming an independent movie. Her big break, she said. She was due home on the twenty-third but her flight was delayed."

He used to believe that but now, five years and countless hours of mulling later, he knows it was a lie. She delayed her flight to spend more time with _him_. It never really bothered Rick too much that Meredith chose her lover over her husband, but he will never be able to forgive her for choosing her lover over her kid.

"So I spent Christmas Eve with Alexis, doing all of our traditions on my own." Not much of a loss since they were all things he came up and Meredith barely participated in. "We watched movies and drank hot chocolate and I read her _The Polar Express_. She'd just gone to sleep when Meredith breezed in. Her bag hadn't even hit the ground before she said we needed to talk."

Rick sighs, shakes his head. "The spectacularly shitty part of it was that I wasn't even all that surprised. Somewhere in my head, in my heart, I'd been expecting it to happen for years. Probably since before I even married her. I just never thought I'd be getting the news that she was leaving me for another man while wearing a pair of light up reindeer antlers."

Her voice, quiet and throaty, pulls him back into the present. "I'm sorry. That sounds - awful doesn't seem like a strong enough word."

His broken chuckle scrapes at the back of his tongue. "It was a shit show."

Kate laughs with him, soft and real and he is overwhelmed by the desire to know what her laugh sounds like first thing in the morning, pillow creases on her cheek and her hair a frizzy golden halo.

"I'm sorry," he says, as the car slows to a stop. "That was definitely the deep end."

The driver shifts the car into park and opens his door, a rush of chilly air swirling in. He jogs around and pops Kate's door, one gloved hand reaching out in invitation. Kate looks back at Rick over her shoulder, one foot already on the sidewalk as her eyes meet his.

"It's okay," she says, allowing the driver to take her hand as she slides off the seat. "I'm a strong swimmer."

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._


	5. Chapter 5

Laptop balanced on his thighs, Rick reclines in the corner of the sofa, feet propped up on the coffee table and fingers flying over the keys. His eyes flick up to the Christmas tree, still lit even in the middle of the morning, and feels the corners of his lips turn up. They've spread into a full blown grin a paragraph later and he throws a little thanks to whoever might be in charge for making sure that his mother isn't home to see him cheesing like a fool at his computer screen.

A buzzing next to his hip makes him jerk. Rick fishes his silenced cellphone out from under his ass and the smile grows impossibly wider, burning his cheeks and restricting his vision. A picture of a bouquet of winter flowers - pansies and lilies and lenten roses blooming out of an icy blue vase - disappears as the screen goes black. He opens the messaging app and the photo reappears, this time with three flashing dots underneath. Rick watches them blink, thumbs poised over the screen.

 _These are beautiful, Rick. Thank you._

His fingers don't move. Teeth nibbling at the inside of his lower lip, Rick stares at the phone, mind suddenly empty. He switches to the keyboard full of animated yellow faces, scans through the options. A thumbs up? A grin? A kissy face?

He hovers over that last one for a heartbeat too long before switching back to the QWERTY keyboard. What the hell is wrong with him? All he needs to do it type out a quick _you're welcome_ and hit send but - It's not enough.

Not nearly.

To thank her properly, to show her how amazing she truly is, he'd have to buy enough flowers to decorate every float in the Rose Bowl parade. Because holy shit is she amazing. He feels like such an ass for it in retrospect but there had been a part of him - a very small part - concerned that Kate, for all her beauty and humor and grace, would be out of place in a room full of authors and editors and agents.

All of his idiotic his fear had evaporated within three minutes of walking through the door, Kate's hand hooked around his elbow, her body a slight and pleasant weight against his side. She dazzled, she charmed, she made every other human in the room pale in comparison.

He'd left her on her own for no more than three minutes to get them drinks and had come back from the bar to find her deep in conversation with an editor from Random House about the merits of a particular translation of Crime and Punishment. The smirk she gave him when he asked about her knowledge of - and apparent passion for - nineteenth century Russian literature still has his toes curled.

Just like the soft kiss she pressed against his cheek when he escorted her to the door of her building.

The screen of his phone goes black and Rick lets it fall against his chest, mind still frustratingly blank. He's a writer, dammit. A New York Times best selling one, multiple times over. He should be able to type a simple text.

He picks up the phone and unlocks it, thumbs moving over the digital keyboard. He's on the l in welcome when it starts to buzz, the screen suddenly overtaken by a picture of Kate. He'd snapped it on the sly the at the party, drawn in by the softness of her features as she'd listened, utterly enraptured, to an aged agent expound upon what it had been like to edit for Margaret Atwood in the seventies.

Rick swipes at the green answer button, his thumb a little clammy against the glass.

"Kate," he says, wincing a little at the overly enthusiastic decibel of his greeting. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

A slightly shaky sigh makes his earlobe tingle. "I have a favor to ask."

Rick pushes his laptop onto the couch. "Hit me."

"Lanie found out through the office gossip mill that a man sent me flowers - beautiful flowers - and now wants to meet this man. Meet you," she needlessly clarifies, still running on one breath, "so she can, I don't know, grill you or threaten to maim you or kidnap us both and drive to Vegas. I don't know. And I realize this isn't part of our deal, per se, and I wouldn't blame you at all if you say no, but even when she's not pregnant it is basically impossible to say no to Lanie and -"

"Kate," he cuts in, voice bouncing with amusement at this out of character nervous rambling thing she's doing. "Just tell me where and when. I'll be there."

"How about in an hour at the Twelfth precinct?"

"She wants to do it today?" Rick asks, head rocking back a little in surprise.

"No, she's _demanding_ we do it today," Kate sighs.

"I can't say you really strike me as the kind of woman who gives in to demands, Kate Beckett."

"Have you ever tried to tell a pregnant woman no while she's holding a scalpel and standing over corpse?"

He laughs, head bobbing in a nod of agreement she'll never see. "You could have just stopped at 'tried to tell a pregnant woman no'."

"So," Kate drawls, the manic rambling replaced by a quiet shyness that makes his chest ache a little, "you'll come?"

He pushes the laptop onto the couch and stands, back and knees cracking. "I wouldn't miss it."

"Thank you, Rick. Really. This is - I'll owe you one."

He laughs, unbuttoning his shirt as he heads for the shower. "I'm going to remember you said that."

* * *

Rick jogs across the street, making to the other side just as the time runs out on the pedestrian light. He runs a hand through his hair, smoothing it back into place, as the traffic starts to inch forward. Police cars line the curb and he peeks into each one as he passes, childlike excitement making his heart race a little.

"Rick."

Her voice pulls him out of his fantasies of sitting behind the wheel of the nearest cruiser, flipping every switch and pressing every button he can find. He looks up, finds Kate leaned against corner of the building, coat cinched around her waist and hair tucked behind her ears. A knowing smirk curls one corner of her mouth.

"Reliving some childhood dreams?" she asks, one long finger pointing at the car.

"Who said they were relegated to childhood?" Rick tosses back. "I've imagined chucking it all away and becoming a cop as recently as, oh, six months ago."

Her head cocks to one side, eyes narrowed in assessment. "Nah," she says, pushing off the wall, "you'd never cut it. You're too -"

"Pretty," he finishes, falling in step next to her. "I know. The other cops would resent me and no perp would ever take me seriously."

"I was going to say immature but sure. Let's go with pretty." She cuts her eyes at him, that ever present grin still flirting with her lips. "And don't say perp. You cannot pull that off."

She walks a half a pace in front of him, leading. Officers in uniform greet her as they pass and she answers each one by name, a genuine kindness in her voice. They round the corner and he watches as her spine softens, Captain Beckett making room for Kate as the stiff line of her shoulders round and she tucks her hands into the pockets of her coat.

"So," Rick says, as they slow to a stop at the corner of the block, "tell me more about Lanie. What do I need to know?"

Kate nibbles on her bottom lip for a moment and he watches, a little mesmerized by the way the skin goes from pink to white and back again.

"Lanie sort of defies explanation," she says. "She's just - Lanie. We met on one of my first cases as a detective. She decided that we were going to be best friends. And," one shoulder lifts in a shrug as the light turns and they start to cross, "we are."

"Just like that."

Her chin bobs. "I think the fact that we're on our way to meet her is solid evidence that what Lanie wants, Lanie gets."

A gust of chilly wind stings his face. Kate shivers, her hair buffeted around her face, and his arm jerks, hand moving of its own accord toward her shoulders. He stops himself halfway there, turning back to sweep his fingers through his own windblown hair instead.

Recovering from — whatever the hell that was, Rick dips his head toward a bright red awning protruding over the sidewalk a block up.

"Is that where we're going?"

Kate doesn't answer, lips once again held hostage by her incisors. From the corner of his eye, he watches as she wages some sort of internal battle until finally her chin jerks in a decisive little nod.

Fingers, thin and cool, skitter around his hand. The pads press against his skin and her palm kisses his. Heat blooms in his gut as he looks down, sees the tips of her fingers blanching a little around the edges of her soft pink manicure.

"Lanie's watching," Kate explains, cutting her eyes in his direction without turning her head.

Their shoulders bump and Rick tightens his grip when her palm starts to slip.

"I got this," he murmurs under his breath at they approach the door. He presses the tip of his thumb against the joint at the base of her index finger, mouth twisting into what he can only hope is a reassuring smile. "We got this."

Kate dips her chin as he grips the chrome handle with the hand not wrapped around hers. He follows her into the resturant, mouth starting to water at the scent of grilled meat and fried food hangin in the air.

"They do burgers here?" he asks, trailing her as she winds her way through the retro diner table.

"Best ones in the city."

"That's a bold claim," Rick chuckles. "This is a big city."

"And these burgers are the best ones in it," Kate says, looking back over her shoulder at him with that one acrobatic eyebrow raised. "Just wait."

A little burst of electricity zips down his spine and Rick's toes curl inside his shoes. He feels his own eyebrow leap into action but before he can formulate some sort of pithy response, they've reached the booth. Kate's hand falls away from his as she reaches out to hug her friend and his fingers feel cold as he unbuttons and slips off his jacket

"So," Lanie says, eyeing him up and down as she stands next to the booth, a scrub top stretched over the rounded ball of her stomach, "You're the mystery man who sent my girl here the most beautiful bouquet of flowers, huh?"

Rick nods, hands reaching for the collar of Kate's coat as she slips it off, holding the hem up off the floor. She gives him a grateful little smile over one shoulder and it takes him a second too long to direct his attention back to the woman impatiently awaiting his response.

"That's me," Rick says, draping his and Kate's coats over his left arm and extending a hand to Lanie. "Rick Castle. It's a pleasure to meet you, Doctor."

Lanie grips his hand firmly, her fingers warm and strong. "Rick Castle, the writer?"

He nods, sliding into the vinyl covered bench, piling the coats on the seat between his hip and the wall. "That's me again."

The water glasses wobble on as Lanie sits down, her stomach bumping the edge of the table. She cuts her eyes at Kate, mauve stained lips curling into a knowing grin.

"Haven't I seen you reading his books?"

Rick looks toward Kate, sees the trails of pink crawling up from the collar of her crisp white dress shirt. "You read my books?"

"I've read a couple," Kate says, not looking at him.

"A couple?" Lanie says, her voice vibrating with a laugh. "Kate, you -

Kate's head jerks up, her eyes widening. The amusement falls off Lanie's face and she nods, some silent agreement passing between the two of them. Rick feels the air getting heavier, pressing down on them as the seconds tick past. He clears his throat and reaches for the water glass.

"So, Lanie," he says, the cold water stinging the back of his throat, "Kate said you just recently got married? How did you and your husband meet?"

Lanie launches into a story about a delayed flight and a bitchy seatmate, her eyes lighting up as she recounts the day she met the man of her dreams. Rick only half pays attention to the tale, the rest of his focus aimed at the woman sitting next to him, so close that he can feel warmth radiating from her slack covered thigh.

As casually as he can manage, Rick lets his hand fall off the table. His pinky brushes the side of her knee and Kate jerks, her eyes cutting in his direction. He smiles at her, that same reassuring one from out on the sidewalk, and her gaze darts away. He's halfway through a silent sigh when he sees her hand slip under the table, feels the soft sweep of fingertips over the back of his.

* * *

Rick stands in line at the counter, coat on and the paper check in one hand. He eyes the platter of black and white cookies on the counter, overstuffed stomach aching at the mere thought of trying to force in even a single morsel more. Kate was right. They were the best burgers in the city.

Lanie and Kate wait by the door, heads tilted toward one another in a way that reminds him of walking into the living room to find Alexis and her little friends huddled together on the couch, whispering secrets to one another while watching Disney movies.

Some things really do never change.

"Why were you hiding him from me?" Lanie asks, her voice more like a loud hiss than a whisper.

He doesn't hear Kate's response, her whispering abilities apparently having advanced past those of a five year old.

"You _were_ hiding him," Lanie insists. "I wouldn't even know he existed if Ryan hadn't spilled the beans about the flowers."

The young girl manning the cash register smiles at him and Rick steps forward to pay, putting himself out of earshot of even Lanie's stage whisper. He makes polite conversation with her as she cashes him out, even as he strains to try to hear what Kate and Lanie are saying. Rick risks a glance in their direction, a smile pulling at his mouth as he takes in the flustered blush staining Kate's cheeks.

He stuffs his wallet back into the pocket of his jeans, waving off the change the cashier tries to give him. Fingers working on the buttons of his coat, he makes his way toward the door, eyes cast down in mock distraction.

"- like him," Lanie says, halfway through a pronouncement. "I can tell."

"He's nice, " Kate admits, the words a little slow off the end of her tongue. "Funny, smart, loves his kid. There -" Rick chances a glance up, sees her shoulders shrug. "There's not much unlikeable about him."

Lanie throws an arm around Kate's shoulders and pulls her in for a tight hug. Kate molds herself around her friend's protruding stomach, one hand coming up to pat softly between her shoulder blades. Lanie's mouth moves against Kate's ear, her first successful whisper, and Rick watches as Kate's lips spread into a smile more wide and genuine than any other he's seen from her yet.

Kate's eyes flick up to meet his and the smile changes, the edges softening as it morphs into something a little more reserved but no less real. She steps back from Lanie, her hair a little mussed.

"I have to get back to the precinct," Kate says, tipping her head toward the sidewalk.

"Yeah, there's a body with my name on it," Lanie nods, belting her coat. She gives Rick a sideways hug, hip bumping against his thigh. "Don't forget to call my office to setup that morgue tour."

"Oh, I can assure you, Dr. Parrish, that is the last thing I will be forgetting to do," Rick laughs, holding open the door as they all exit.

"Are you walking?" Kate asks.

Lanie shakes her head. "Christopher made me promise I wouldn't," she says, amused exasperation on her expressive face. "He's convinced that walking more than a hundred feet at one time will shake the baby loose or something. I'm humoring him," she explains, pulling out her phone and flashing the screen at them, "and ordering Ubers everywhere."

"If that's not true love," Rick says, "I don't know what is."

All three of them laugh and a syrupy warmth flows through him, pumping out into his arms and legs with every heavy thud of his heart. It's been a long time - far too long, really - since he's had this sort of easy camaraderie in his life. Meredith got most of their friends in the divorce, a division he thought was only fair since he got Alexis and they were mostly her friends to begin with, and he's never really bothered to put the effort into making more. But now, standing here on this sidewalk next to Lanie and Kate, he's starting to understand what he's been missing.

"I'll call you later," Kate says, tossing one last wave over her shoulder toward Lanie as they start to walk way.

Her arm falls to her side and without giving himself time to stop and think, Rick gathers her hand in his, fingers widening the spaces between hers as he laces them together. Their palms meet and he rubs a gentle circle at the base of her thumb. Kate looks at him, her shoulders loose and the surprise in her eyes softened by contentment.

"Lanie's watching," he says, keeping his voice low and leaning down to let his lips almost brush her hair.

A little laugh comes huffing out through her nose and Rick's chest constricts as Kate leans into him, fingers drumming softly against the back of his hand as she tightens her grip. Leaves crunch under their feet as they round the corner, taking themselves out of view of the restaurant.

Neither of them lets go.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._


	6. Chapter 6

Guests fill the parquet dance floor, tipsy members of the New York Police department swaying to the smooth elegance of a string quartet. Rick takes a sip of champagne, the bubbles tickling the back of his throat. He watches Kate's old boss twirl his wife along the edge of the crowd and can't stop the spread of his envious smile.

"Montgomery showing off again?"

Kate glides up next to him, the hem of her shimmery blue evening dress fluttering against the carpet. His eyes skim along the graceful slope of her bare shoulders and the tips of his fingers start to tingle. Kate stops at his elbow, mouth curved into a soft smile.

"They always do this," she tells him, tipping her head toward Montgomery and Evelyn, lost in their own little world. "He pretends it's all for her but look at him."

"Yeah, it's easy to see he loves it," Rick agrees, dropping his empty champagne glass on the tray of a passing waiter. "But not nearly as much as he loves her."

Kate's head tips to one side, the long line of her neck becoming impossibly longer. Her pulse flutters under the thin skin just below her jaw and he finds himself wanting to brush the pad of his thumb against it, see if it is as soft as he imagines.

"Yeah," she says, a wistfulness in the syllable that pulls at him. "They remind me -"

Her voice catches. Rick watches her eyes slip closed, ribs expanding under the form fitting bodice of her dress as she pulls in a shaky breath. His hand moves without instruction, fingers skimming around her waist. Kate lists toward him, not quite giving him her weight. The back of her hand brushes his thigh and Rick lets his thumb sweep over the angle of her hip.

"Are you -"

"Ricky!"

Spine stiffening, Kate pulls away, putting as much distance between their bodies as she can without breaking his hold. Her shoulders square and he watches the mask fall back over her face, cool professionalism overlaying any lingering trace of real emotion.

"Bob," Rick says, right hand extending and a mask of his own sliding into place. "How are you? It's been too long."

The Mayor grips and grins, his political persona always turned to eleven.

"Far too long, Ricky," Bob chortles, eyes a little glassy and a hint of scotch on his breath. "You'll have to allow me the pleasure of kicking your ass at poker again some time very soon."

"I don't quite recall my ass being the one getting kicked," Rick laughs, "but you know I'm always up for a few hands." He squeezes Kate's waist and shifts on the spot, angling his body toward hers. "But for now, how about you allow _me_ the pleasure of introducing you to the finest police captain this city ever had the good sense to promote."

The simple silver bracelet on Kate's wrist catches the light as she extends her hand. "Kate Beckett, sir. It's an honor."

"Captain Beckett," Bob says, shaking her hand with both of his in that falsely intimate way politicians favor. "You ran the investigation into the 3XK murders a couple of years ago, didn't you? Damn fine police work, that was."

Her head tilts, chin falling toward her chest as she demures. "It was a team effort. Every officer at the Twelfth put in the work to bring him in."

"Smart, beautiful, _and_ humble," Bob declares, looking from Kate to Rick. "What in the hell is she doing here with you?"

A pink stain spreads out from the base of Kate's neck, long fingers creeping down into the neckline of her dress and crawling over the delicate line of her collarbones.

"I've been asking myself that all evening," Rick admits, realizing the truth in the words as he speaks them. "I'm one lucky S.O.B."

A young man with a clipboard tucked into the bend of his elbow materializes at the Mayor's side.

"Mayor Weldon, your speech is in ten minutes. We need to -" He tips his head toward the stage.

Bob lets out a theatrical sigh. "Duty calls," he says, allowing the aide to begin herding him in toward a small mob of waiting reporters. "Captain, make sure you keep this ruffian in check."

"I'll do my best, sir," Kate says as Bob gives them both little bows before following his assistant.

They watch him go, glad handing and politicking the whole way across the room. Tension he hadn't realized he'd been holding releases from his neck and Rick's shoulders drop half an inch. He lets his gaze shift back to Kate, indulging in what has quickly become his new favorite hobby. She watches the room, but he watches her, eyes tracking her face and posture, catching those tiny moments of unguarded, unmasked realness.

The music shifts, the slow dirge of _O Holy Night_ making way for the peppy joy of _Santa Baby_. Kate's hips rock with the music, nothing more than a light shift of her weight from foot to foot. Rick taps her waist with his thumb, nodding toward the dance floor when she raises an eyebrow in his direction.

"Shall we?"

One side of her bottom lip disappears behind her teeth. Rick counts the passing beats as she wars with herself. He gets to eight before her chin dips in acceptance. Kate leans toward him, her shoulder pressing into his side has he guides her through the half a dozen steps to the dance floor.

Her whole hand disappears inside the mitt of his and the tips of her fingers feel like little points of ice against his skin. Rick tightens his arm around her waist, pulling her in closer. The toes of their shoes kiss and the hand she has on his shoulder clenches for a moment before releasing.

"Don't go getting fresh now, Mr. Castle," she says, her rib cage vibrating against his. "I'd hate to have to arrest you in front of all these people."

Rick laughs, his hand pressed firmly against the small of her back. "It wouldn't be the first time."

"Or even the second," Kate grins. "Though it still wouldn't top that incident with the horse."

Her eyes sparkle in the reflection of the ropes of twinkling lights hanging from the ceiling. Rick adjusts his grip on her hand, pulling her palm in to rest on his chest. He runs his thumb along the backs of her fingers, riding the bumps and dips in time to the music.

"Captain Beckett, did you pull my record?"

The corners of her mouth stretch even farther apart. "What kind of cop would I be if I didn't pull the rap sheet of the strange man -"

"I prefer intriguing to strange, thanks."

" -who propositioned me in the middle of a Starbucks?" Kate asks, eyes rolling a little as she ignores his interjection.

"Not a very good one," Rick concedes as he twirls them around the corner of the dance floor, the hem of Kate's dress billowing out around their ankles. "And if there's one thing I know for a fact you are, Kate Beckett, it's a good cop. How else would you have become the youngest woman to make Captain in the history of the NYPD?"

That eyebrow he's developing a complicated relationship with arches and Rick chuckles.

"What kind of mystery writer would I be," he says, voice dropping, "if I didn't do a little research into the stunning woman I propositioned in the middle of a Starbucks?"

Heat flashes in Kate's eyes and his stomach lurches. Her chin dips, taking her gaze along for the ride, as her shoulders shift ever so slightly in his direction.

"Not a very good one," Kate murmurs.

The song shifts again, the low moan of the cello a perfect counterpoint to the cheerful call of the violins. Kate's weight shifts and Rick loosens the muscles in his hands and arms, makes his hold easily breakable. His lungs seize up when she settles more firmly against him, thumb sliding under the collar of his tuxedo jacket as her hand skims across to rest in the hollow where his neck and shoulder meet.

Rick forces air into his chest, an unexpected relief rushing out into his veins. His arm slots into the curve of her slender waist, hand wrapping around her hip until his fingertips can almost brush against her abdomen.

Montgomery and his wife waltz past, faces lit with joy, and Rick watches them over the slope of Kate's shoulder, his earlier envy smothered under blanket of contentment.

* * *

"Wow, that speech was unnecessarily long."

Kate laughs at his shoulder, her breath hanging in the frigid air like fog. "He's your friend. Tell him to reign it in next time."

"There is no reining in Bob Weldon, especially when he's had a few. You should see him hold court over the poker table. It's a thing to behold."

"I have to imagine he's not the only pontificator at those games," Kate says, bumping her elbow against the back of his.

"You are not wrong," he says, grinning as he looks toward her. "Patterson can be a real blowhard when he's on the bottle."

She laughs at him again and he finds himself taken in by the way the soft white light leaking from neighboring storefronts halos her silhouette, makes her glow. One rogue curl, an escapee from the twist of hair at the nape of her neck, brushes at her cheek and the urge to reach up and tuck it behind her ear hits him hard, a heavy weight of desire pressing down on his chest.

A muffled ping escapes from the pocket of her coat and Kate releases the handful of her skirt she'd been holding, keeping the hem off the icy sidewalk.

"Sorry," she says, pulling out her phone with one hand, the other lifting to her mouth. "I have to check this."

Rick nods, watching as he grips the thumb of her glove between her teeth and tugs, pulling the fleece lined leather off. She swipes at the screen, eyes rolling slightly. Her thumb dances across the glass and he hears the swoosh of a sent message. Kate drops the phone into her pocket and pulls her glove back on with a huff.

"Bad news?"

"No," she says, her voice a mixture of frustration and amusement that delights him. "I thought it might be an update on a case we're working but it was just two of my detectives being idiots."

A dozen different questions pop into his brain at once but before he can pick one out of the pack, a town car slows to a stop in front of them. The driver clambers out and rushes around the rear of the car, apologizing for the delay as he tugs open the door.

Rick leads Kate off the sidewalk with a hand at the small of her back. She thanks the driver as she slides into the seat, tugging her dress over the jamb. The door slams and Rick follows the chauffeur around the car, waving him off when he reaches for the handle. He slides into the seat next to Kate, skin prickling in the heated air.

Kate's heels lay abandoned on the floor mat, the toes askew. Rick watches her scrunch and stretch her feet, a grimace of painful pleasure contorting her usually smooth forehead. Taking her cue, he slips the knot on his bow tie, the loose ends falling to his chest as he frees the top two buttons of his dress shirt. He lets out an overly dramatic sigh and rubs at his throat.

"That's better."

Light from the street lamps tint the interior of the car amber, making Kate's hazel eyes almost golden as she looks at him from the other side of the seat. Her hand falls out of her lap, fingers climbing over the buttery leather to reach his. Rick watches her face as she wraps them around his own, can almost see the words pushing against her cheeks as she chews them over.

"Thank you," she says at last, squeezing his fingers. "This is my first one of these things -" her head tilts toward the ballroom they just left - "and I don't think I realized before -" Kate swallows, head shaking a little as she shrugs one shoulder. "Having you there made it easier. So thank you."

Rick runs his thumb over the knuckle of her index finger. "You don't need to thank me, Kate" he says, his lips curling around the words. "I was happy to be here."

He bites the end of his tongue to stop the _with you_ from escaping.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._


	7. Chapter 7

_I sincerely apologize for not posting the last two days. I was unexpectedly admitted to the hospital Tuesday night and was unable to post from my phone, though I did try. Thank you for your patience._

* * *

"Alexis, come on," Rick calls from the bottom of the stairs, a dishrag tossed over one shoulder. "Your mom will be here any minute."

"I'm getting ready! God! "

Rick takes a deep breath, eyes slipping shut as he works to convince himself not to yell at his kid. He plods back into the kitchen and starts the dishwasher, wishing that ten am wasn't too early to bust out the scotch.

"What in the hell is taking her so long?" Rick asks, looking over where his mother sits sipping a cup of coffee at the counter. "It never takes her more than five minutes to get ready for anything."

"Thirty-nine years old and still you have no clue about women," Martha tsks from behind her cup. "She's primping, Richard."

He spins on the spot, damp sponge in one hand and the dish rag in the other. "Primping? Why?" he asks as the sponge drips onto his big toe, turning the tip of his sock from grey to black.

"Because," his mother says, drawing the word out as if she is preparing to impart the most basic of knowledge, "the young man she recently met will be at the rink with his family this afternoon as well." She takes a delicate sip of coffee, eyes floating back to the script spread out in front of her on the counter. "They're planning a little tête-à-tête near the hot chocolate stand, I believe."

"She didn't tell me about this."

"Yes, I did."

Rick turns again, finds his daughter standing at the bottom of the staircase, her long hair in some sort of complicated, inside out braid and a lavender sweater he's never seen before . He squints and his heart takes a swan dive into this stomach.

"Are you wearing makeup?"

Alexis rolls her eyes and glides past him. "Just some eye and lip stuff," she says, tugging open the door to the refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of juice. "And I did tell you about the skating date. You said it was fine."

"You told me you were meeting Ashley."

His mother lets out a melodious chuckle. "Ashley is her paramour, Richard."

Rick looks from his mother to his daughter, brain desperately trying to catch up. "Ashley is a boy?"

Alexis just nods as she pulls a tube of lipgloss out of her pocket. She unscrews the lid and swipes on a new layer, more than replacing what little she lost to the rim of her drink. The doorbell rings and she run-skips out of the kitchen, the tail of her braid bouncing between her shoulder blades. Rick stares after her, pain radiating through his chest. He is so not ready to have a kid who dates.

"Oh, Alexis," Meredith coos from the threshold, oversized sunglasses covering half of her face and a giant handbag hiding the majority of her torso. She fingers the sleeve of Alexis' sweater with one gloved hand. "I knew that shade would look fabulous on you."

Alexis' chin dips and suddenly all he can see is her at five years old, prancing around the loft on her tiptoes, Monkey Bunky in one hand and a juice box in the other.

"Meredith," Rick says, pushing off the counter and making his way to the door. "Did you know about this date she has planned this afternoon?"

" _Dad_."

"You mean with that sweet little Ashley?" Meredith asks, pushing her glasses up to rest on top of her head, blue eyes lit with pride. "Of course! It was my idea."

The blunt ends of his nails dig at the meat of his palms. "And you didn't think to run that by me?"

"Oh, Richard," Meredith titters, one hand waving off the mere suggestion of consulting with him before lining up dates for their kid. "You're making far too much out it. They want to hold hands and skate and drink a little hot chocolate. Bryan and I will be there the whole time to keep an eye on them."

"And so will I," Rick proclaims, pulling open the hall closet. He tugs out a coat and a pair of boots, the untied laces swaying.

"Dad," Alexis repeats, horror making her voice drop an octave. "No."

"Richard, it's really not necessary."

"I, for one," Martha pipes up, sauntering over from the kitchen, a mug in one hand and the dogeared script in the other, "think it's a fabulous idea."

"Thank you, Mother."

"Do you know what would really put it over the top?" she asks, eyeing Rick as he plops onto the bottom step of the staircase and shoves his feet, damp sock and all, into his boots. "If you invited _your_ new sweetheart, Richard. Really make an event of it."

Meredith leans in the door, eyebrows raised and red hair swaying. "You're seeing someone? Who? For how long?"

Martha smirks at him as he stands, pulls his jeans back into place. "Thank you, _Mother_ ," he repeats, this time through gritted teeth, "for such a lovely suggestion. And, yes, Meredith, I am seeing someone. Her name is Kate and it's very new and I don't think today is the appropriate time to introduce her to-" he waves a hand through the air - "all of this."

Technically, no lies told.

"But I insist," Meredith says, stepping more fully into the loft. "If this Kate is going to be in your life - and therefore in Alexis' life - I should meet her."

"And you will. She will be attending Arturo and Liliana's Christmas Eve gala as my date." Rick scoops his keys and phone off the counter and stuffs them into his coat. "And Alexis hasn't met her yet so -"

"That is simply not acceptable," Meredith cuts in, the words clipped even through her lilting tone. "I want to meet her now, not at a party where I won't even be able to hear myself think, much less form an opinion of this woman. Call her, Richard." She points at the pocket his hand is still nestled in. "Call her right now and ask her to join us at the park."

"Meredith -"

"Bryan is holding a cab for us downstairs," she says, pulling her sunglasses back down and looping an arm through Alexis'. "To the rink!"

Alexis looks back at him over her shoulder as Meredith drags her down the hall, her mouth curved into a frown and worry in her eyes. Rick sighs and pulls out his phone, thumb already swiping at the screen. He opens his recent calls app, finds Kate's contact second on the list, and hits the call button.

"Thank you again, Mother," he says, turning to pull the door shut behind himself as the phone trills next to his ear. "Thank you _so_ much."

Martha just grins and waves the ruffled pages of her script at him. "Have fun, darling!"

The line clicks when he's halfway to the elevator.

"Hey, there," Kate says, the words loose and warm.

His stomach does a little pirouette. "Hey."

"What's up? You sound weird."

"Weirder than usual?" he asks, a little amazed at her ability to read his mood off the strength of one syllable.

"I didn't think it was possible," Kate chuckles, "but yeah. So, I ask again, what's up?"

"Well," Rick drawls, thumbing the button to call the elevator that will take him straight into wintery hell, "remember when I went to lunch with you and Lanie and you said you owe me one?"

* * *

Elbows thrust out, Rick muscles his way through the crowd, scanning for familiar faces. He bumps into an older couple in matching fleece jackets, hands clasped tight. The lines on their faces are almost identical when they both offer smiles in answer to his apology and something he doesn't dare name stirs deep inside his chest. A hand brushes down the back of his sleeve and Rick startles, hand flying to his mouth in surprise.

"Wow," Kate laughs, a red peacoat wrapped around her torso and eyes obscured by stylish sunglasses. "You really are weirder than usual today."

Rick shakes his head, wills the emotional fog rolling in around the edges of his heart to dissipate. "My daughter is on her first date. Cut me a little slack."

"First date that you know of," Kate says, laughter making the ends of her fabric belt bounce when he widens his his eyes, legs stopping dead.

"What do you mean first that I know of?'

"Breathe," she cajoles, voice still shimmying with amusement as her hand wraps around his bicep. "Just messing with you."

She leads him over to the the closest set of bleachers. The wooden seat scratches at the denim of his jeans when he scoots down to make room for her. Kate perches next to him, her booted feet propped on the edge of the bench below theirs. Her shoulder bumps against the back of his and Rick looks down at her upturned face, that long dormant thing in his chest stretching as it wakes from a years long nap.

A familiar voice screeches through the crowd and Rick shudders. "Oh, God."

"Hey, I got this," Kate tells him, the fabric of his coat sleeve wrinkling as her fingers tighten. " _We_ got this."

His upper body sways, eyes drawn like moths to the flame of her soft, reassuring smile. Kate's gaze flicks down and up again, the tip of her tongue smoothing over the bow of her bottom lip. Rick shifts, hip pressing against hers as her fingers curl against the curve of his bicep.

"Richard!"

Kate jumps and Rick make no effort to contain the groan that rises up from the depths of his abdomen. Deep pink covers her cheeks and neck and he's pretty sure he'd see it dusted across the tips of her ears if her hair wasn't covering them. His heart hammers against his ribs, pounding so hard his ribs might crack.

The bleachers rattle beneath, an announcement befitting the lack of subtlety of his ex-wife, and Rick sighs.

"Please accept my apologies in advance," he says, free hand lifting to cover the one she still has hooked around his arm.

"I told you we were going to meet by the hot chocolate stand," Meredith says, inspecting the bench next below theirs before before perching on the edge, giant purse held in her lap. "That's where the photographers are."

"Photographers?"

"Yes, I hired a couple of NYU students to hide in the crowd and take pictures of Alexis on her little date."

"You did what?" Rick asks,

Bryan grimaces as he sits down next to Meredith on the bench. He and Rick nod at one other in what Rick considers to be the universally accepted amicable greeting between an ex-husband and the man he was left for.

"I cancelled them, Mere," he says, balancing one ankle in the opposite knee, attention turning to the crowd. "It was a terrible idea and Alexis would have hated it."

"Oh, Bryan -"

"Thank you, Bryan," Rick says, cutting off whatever protest Meredith was preparing to launch into. "You're right. Alexis would have been mortified."

Meredith huffs, her focus shifting to Kate. Rick watches as she crosses her legs and contorts her face into a smile so wide and false he's a little surprised her cheeks don't crack.

"So," she says, tilting forward in a show of manufactured interest, "you must be Kate."

Leaning slightly across him, Kate holds out a hand and Meredith stares at her for a beat too long before accepting.

"Kate Beckett," she says, the scent of vanilla wafting up from her hair and tickling his nose. "Nice to meet you."

Meredith nods, hands falling back to her insanely expensive designer purse. "So, how did you and Richard meet? One of his book signings?"

"Well, a book was involved," Kate says, the lie flowing so smoothly off her tongue that he has to stop himself from doing a double take. "I was enjoying coffee and a mystery novel in Starbucks when Rick-" the hand not looped around his bicep smacks his knee - "sat down in the empty chair at my table and decided to tell me how it ended. Luckily, I had read it before or else I would have had to call my own officers to arrest me for murdering him."

"Oh, yes," Meredith says, nose scrunching in disdain. "Alexis mentioned that you're a police officer."

"I am," Kate says, tone and posture both equally loose.

"She's a Captain," Rick corrects, heat flaring in his gut. "She's actually the youngest woman to ever be made Captain. She brought the case closure rate of her precinct up by fourteen percent in her first year as a detective. She won three awards of commendation and a medal of valor. She -"

"Oh my goodness, Richard, did you memorize her Wikipedia page?"

Kate lets out a breathy laugh. "He must have," she says, jostling the arm she's still holding, "because I didn't tell him any of that."

"I called Bob," he admits, grinning at her. "You had access to my rap sheet, so I asked him for access to yours, as it were."

Her grin widens, the tips of her hair brushing against her coat as her head shakes. "I don't know if I'm horrified or impressed."

"I'd pick impressed," Bryan says, arm bracing on the bench as he leans back to look at them from behind Meredith. "By you, I mean, Kate. That's a rather impressive story. Have you ever given any thought to writing about it?"

Her eyebrows knit together as her bottom lip turns slightly out and Rick swallows a laugh.

"Bryan is a producer," he explains. "He's always trying to turn other people's lives into his next million dollar idea."

"As long as there's a starring role for me," Meredith tosses in, attentions still on Kate. "I've never thought about doing an action movie but maybe." A hand raises in Kate's direction, circling her face in the air. "I'm not dying my hair that color though. Brown is just so pedestrian."

"Oh, look," Rick says, pushing himself off the bench and dragging Kate along with him. "There's Alexis. Let's go say hi."

Kate follows him down the steps even as Meredith calls after them.

"Come back when you're done, Richard!"

"I'm sorry," Rick says, taking her hand as it slides from the crook of his elbow down to his wrist. "I am so very sorry."

Kate giggles, her shoulder bumping into his and fingers squeezing. "It's fine," she says, head shaking. "But that one I owed you?"

"Paid in full?"

"Triple paid," Kate laughs. "Might go to quadruple if Bryan brings up the biopic again."

They reach the side of the rink, thighs pressing against the plexiglass barrier. Skaters of various skill glide past, blades kicking up a mist of ice. A couple spins in the middle of the rink, hands clasped tight and bodies arching back as they let the centrifugal force carry them around.

"Bryan isn't a bad guy," Rick admits. "He just tends to have a cinematic view of the world."

"Wow," Kate says, free hand resting on the railing as she looks at him. "That's a pretty mature outlook on the man your ex-wife left you for."

Rick shrugs.

"He's good to my kid. That's all that really matters to me. Plus, Meredith was always going to leave. If it hadn't been Bryan, it would have been someone else," he says, wishing he could see Kate's eyes behind the dark lenses of her sunglasses. "Meredith and I weren't built to last. We tried to make it work, then we stopped. If I'm honest, we left each other long before she slept with Bryan."

Kate hums. "So you've had some therapy for all this."

A laugh explodes from his chest. "Yes, as was strongly recommended by the lawyer who handled the horse incident for me."

"That's a smart lawyer."

"Better be for what I paid her," Rick says as she laughs at him.

The wall shakes a little as Alexis bumps up against it, cheeks flushed and a shy smile curling her lips.

"Hey pumpkin," Rick says hugging her over the wall. "Are you having a good time on your date."

Her eyes roll, the pink on her cheek darkening. "I'm Alexis," she says, holding a hand out toward Kate as she ignores him.

"It's nice to meet you, Alexis," Kate says, shaking his daughter's hand. "I'm Kate. I've heard a lot about you from your dad."

"All good things," Rick jokes awkwardly, suddenly very aware of Kate's fingers laced through his. He's never held hands with a woman other than Meredith in front of Alexis. "I left out the time you peed in my shoe when you were mad at me."

Alexis scowls at him. "Ew, Dad. Why do you have to be so gross?" She looks back at Kate. "I'm sorry for that. I'm also sorry for my mom. I tried to talk her out of this on the ride over but she kept insisting and -"

"Alexis," Rick cuts in, hand cupping her shoulder as she wobbles from blade to blade. "You are not responsible for policing your mom's actions."

"I know, I just feel bad that she ambushed Kate like that."

"It's okay," Kate says, giving Alexis that same reassuring smile that had him so hypnotized on the bleachers. "Really, Alexis."

Alexis nods, some of the redness fading from her cheeks. Rick pulls her in for another quick hug, grinning as she wraps an arm around his back, her hand fisting in his coat like she was five years old again and holding onto him while he gave her a piggyback ride around the loft.

"So," Rick asks as she pulls back. "Where's this Ashley? I need to get a look at this kid."

"He's taking his little brother around right now," Alexis says, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her coat. "We're going to meet over by the hot chocolate stand in a little while."

A somberness underscores her words. Rick zeros in on it, concern immediately filling his chest.

"Alexis, what's wrong? Did something happen?"

Her head whips toward him. "What? No. I just -"

"What, Pumpkin?"

Her shoulders roll in as she shrinks in on herself, her confession made directly toward the ice.

"I wanted to hold his hand but mine are sweaty," she says, angst only a teenager can feel coating the words as they rush off her tongue, "and I forgot my gloves. I don't want to gross him out."

"Alexis -" Ricks starts only to stop as he catches Kate shaking her head in his periphery.

His hand empties, fingers clutching at nothing but air. Kate tugs off her gloves, first the left then the right, pressing the palms together before she holds them out toward Alexis.

"Wear mine," she says, jostling her hand so the empty fingers of the gloves wiggle a little hello. "They'll be a little big, probably, but it shouldn't be too bad.

Alexis looks at her, eyes wide and mouth a little agape. "Are you sure?"

"Of course," Kate assures, her voice bouncing with a soft laugh. "You need them more than I do."

Alexis takes the gloves with a shy grin and tugs them on, pulling until the tip of every finger is filled out. She tucks the extra frabric at the cuff into the sleeve of her coat, looks over her shoulder. A gangly kid with brown hair and a slightly dumbstruck look on his face stands by the hot chocolate vendor, hands stuffed in his pockets. Alexis looks back toward them, slashes of heat appearing across her cheeks again.

"Is that him?" Kate asks and Alexis nods.

"I'm gonna go," she says, a breathiness in her voice that makes him want to pull out his phone and look up the closest all girls boarding school. "Thanks for the gloves, Kate."

Alexis waves at them over her shoulder as she skates off. Rick watches her weave around a man and his toddler, ginger hair burning orange in the sunlight.

"Come on," Kate says, just as Alexis reaches Ashley. "The last thing she wants is for her dad to watch this."

They turn in sync toward the bleachers and Rick huffs. "I cannot believe you gave my kid your gloves just so she could hold hands with a boy."

"I remember being that age and worrying about things like sweaty palms," Kate says with a shrug and a smile. "It was the least I could do."

"You don't worry about sweaty palms now?" Rick jokes, his laugh catching in his throat as her fingers lace through his.

"I do sometimes," she says, head tilting forward, and he has to squint to see the edge of her smile through the silky curtain of her hair, "but I figure you can handle it."

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._


	8. Chapter 8

_Again, I am so sorry for the delay on this chapter. My original intention was to have this done on New Years Eve and I am immensely regretful that it didn't happen. The last two weeks have been a little crazy for me with most of my free (writing) time now being spent either going to the doctor or sleeping. This story will most definitely be finished. I have two chapters left to write and I am working on them as quickly as I can._

 _Thank you all for your well wishes and continuing support. It means more than you know._

* * *

Rick's knee bounces under the table, an anxious metronome keeping time with the thud of his heart. Condensation makes a halo around the base of his water glass and he dips his thumb into it, drags an abstract pattern across the glossy wooden table top. His cell vibrates and Rick jumps a little, thumb leaving a damp smudge across the front of his shirt as he dips into the inside pocket of his jacket to retrieve it.

 _Almost there. Sorry._

A blue cursor blinks in the empty reply box. His thumbs hover over the tiny digital keys, reaching for half a dozen but never actually touching any. Air leaks out of his chest in a frustrated sigh. Damn near forty years old and here he sits, unsure and nervous about texting a girl. No, a woman.

Because Kate Beckett, he's learning, is many things but the one thing he knows with absolute certainty is that she - with her curves and her smoldering eyes and that husky laugh that makes the hair on the back of his neck come to attention - is most _definitely_ a woman.

A woman he texted at eleven this morning to see if she was free for lunch for no other reason than he wants to see her. Wants to sit in a booth with her and eat hamburgers, the toe of her shoe brushing against his calf as she crosses her legs under the table and rolls her eyes at his lame jokes.

Finally, his right thumb just hits the home button. He puts the phone to sleep and drops it back into his pocket. She'll walk through the door before he manages to type anything and hit send anyway.

The waitress stops next to the table, a smile making the lines around her mouth deepen. She pulls a pen out of her apron with yellow stained fingers and flips open her pad.

"What can I getcha, hon?"

"Oh, I'm still waiting on someone," Rick says, hand waving lamely at the empty side of the booth. "I'll wait until she -"

"Darlene, you know what I want."

His gaze jumps up, focusing over the waitress's shoulder. Kate strides up, fingers working on the buttons of her coat. One hand pats Darlene's shoulder as she slides into the booth, eyes meeting his and then flickering away.

"I sure do know what you want, Captain," Darlene says, the tip of her pen still pressed to the pad. "Now if this guy here would tell me what _he_ wants, we'd be set."

"Um -" Rick stalls, reaching for the menu tucked between the ketchup bottle and the wall. "Let me -"

Kate's hand wraps around his wrist and she looks up at Darlene. Sunlight catches the golden highlights in her hair and his fingers go numb.

"He'll have the mushroom swiss, Darlene. Medium rare. Onion rings and a -" She looks at him for half a second then back up - "neapolitan shake."

Darlene finishes writing the order on her pad with a little flourish. "I'll get these put in and bring you back your shakes."

With a little wink to Kate, she turns and sashays away, her ample hips swinging. Kate shrugs out of her coat and leans against the vinyl covered back of the booth, sets her phone face down on the table.

"Pretty presumptuous to order for me like that, don't you think, Captain?"

The toe of her shoe brushes against his calf as she shifts her weight onto one hip and Rick can't fully suppress his smile.

"Nope," she says, the p popping off her lips like a champagne cork. "It's what you would have ended up with after ten minutes of agonizing over the menu. I just sped up the process."

"And how exactly do you figure that?" Rick asks, lifting his glass for a sip. "I've eaten here a grand total of one time and on that visit I did not order any of the things you just picked out for me."

"But on that visit," Kate says as he thumbs a dribble of water from his chin, "the man at the table next to ours had the mushroom swiss and you watched every bite he took."

"Maybe I just thought he was cute."

Her eyes roll.

"Medium rare?" He asks.

"The only respectable way to order a hamburger," Kate answers with a one shouldered shrug.

"Also how I ordered last time so a bit of a cheat," Rick nods, half-laughing as her eyes roll again. "The onion rings?"

"You chased a waiter down at your publisher's party in order to get the last of the goat cheese and frizzled onion tartlets. As for the shake," she says, anticipating his next question with a slight grin, "you are definitely the kind of person who, when given a choice between three things, will ask for one of each."

Well, he can't argue with her on that one. "Hence, neapolitan shake."

Kate nods. "Hence," she repeats, leaning back from the table as the bases of two frosted glasses clunk down, "neapolitan shake."

"Food'll be out in a few," Darlene says, leaving behind a fug of stale cigarette smoke as she waltzes off again.

Rick pulls the shake close, bending to bring his mouth to the straw rather than picking up the cold glass and watches as Kate does the same. Lips wrapped around the red and white striped straw, she takes a deep pull. The ice cream hits her, sending her eyelids into a dainty little flutter, and Rick almost chokes on his own shake when a moan, soft and impossibly sexy, rumbles from her throat.

"Good?" He asks, shifting his hips as he sits back.

"Amazing," Kate says, thumb catching an errant drop of chocolate ice cream as it drips from the side of the cup.

She brings her hand to her lips, tongue flicking out. Heat blooms low in his gut as her eyes meet his, the golden flecks overtaken by a deep jade green.

"What about yours?" She asks, one long finger pointing at his cup as she goes in for another sip of hers.

"You were right," he admits, smile growing along with hers, "it's exactly what I wanted. No wonder they made you Captain."

A shadow passes over her face, dimming the playful light in her eyes. One shoulder shrugging, Kate reaches for her water glass, turns it slowly around in her hands, never actually taking a sip.

"Too bad being a Captain is more about crunching numbers and creating reports than doing any observing," she says, her voice low and dry.

"You regret it? The promotion?"

Her head shakes, the end of her ponytail brushing the collar of her light blue button up. "No. The higher my rank, the more change I can effect. I just -" The glass finally meets her lips and he watches her throat bob as she swallows. "I didn't become a cop to sit behind a desk all day, answering emails and making spreadsheets."

Taking the opening, Rick asks the questions he's been sitting on since the moment she tossed her card at him.

"Why _did_ you become a cop?"

Kate's chest expands, the cage of her ribs pressing against the fabric of her shirt, eyes flicking back and forth between his. His fingers itch to reach across the table, to lay his hand over hers, still the nervous tap of her nails against the back of her phone.

"My -"

"Yo, Cap!"

Rick jumps and Kate's head whirls around, doe eyes wide. The metal legs of a chair scrape against the floor, bump against the open end of their booth. A stocky hispanic man throws a leg over the seat and drops down, arms folded across the back and a smirk tilting at his mouth.

"This the flower dude?" he asks, thumb hooked toward Rick.

Kate sighs, defeat dragging her shoulders down.

"Yes."

The man looks at Rick, dark brown eyes assessing.

"Those were some nice flowers, bro."

"Thank you," Rick says, the last syllable lifting up in a question.

"Where'd you get them? I'm in the doghouse with my lady right now and something like that might start thawing her out a little."

"You called your girlfriend's sister hot," Kate says, arms crossing over her chest as her eyes roll. "Flowers aren't going to fix that."

The man scoffs, one palm lifting toward the ceiling.

"She asked me if I thought her sister was pretty. What the hell was I supposed to say?" He looks at Rick. "Back me up here, man."

"I gotta go with Kate on this," he says, catching her smile out of the corner of his eye. "Flowers aren't gonna cut it. Jewelry on the other hand -"

Barking out a laugh, the man holds out a hand.

"I like you," he says, fingers gripping Rick's far more tightly than necessary. "Javier Esposito."

"Rick Castle. Nice to meet you."

"Ditto," Esposito says, grinning up at Darlene as she leans past him, dropping two plates onto the table. He takes the grease stained paper bag she hands him with a wink. "Thanks, D."

Darlene winks back, her blue eye shadow sparkling in the midday sun. Esposito stands, pushing the chair back toward the table he stole it from. Tucking the bag into the crook of one arm, he fishes out his wallet with his free hand.

"Castle," he says, the sudden hardness in his voice sending chills down Rick's spine, "you need to remember that she has forty thousand brothers. You hurt her?" Brown eyes flash as he jerks a thumb toward a visibly annoyed Kate. "They'll never find your body."

Rick chokes on the piece of onion ring in his mouth, tongue and throat spasming as every muscle in his body clenches. Kate's hand connects with Esposito's bicep, lips pressed together.

"Go back to work, Espo," she says, pointing toward the door as he grins. "And I swear, if you or Ryan turn in one more set of reports with ketchup stains, no one is ever going to find _your_ bodies."

"Yes, ma'am," Esposito laughs, hand lifting in a salute as he backs away.

The tension in Rick's body melts the instant Kate turns back to look at him, eyes soft and cheeks slightly flushed. "I'm sorry about that," she says, smoothing a napkin across her lap. "Espo and I were in the academy together and he thinks that means he can - well, that he can do crap like that."

Rick reaches for the ketchup, head shaking.

"Don't apologize," he says, smacking the end of the bottle until the sauce starts to flow. "As terrifying as that was - And trust me, it was plenty terrifying. I might need to stop for new pants on the way home," he jokes, chest tightening as she giggles. "But as terrifying as it was, it was nice."

"Being threatened with murder is nice?" Kate asks, juice dripping from her burger as she holds it over the plate, head cocked to one side.

"Not that part so much," Rick says, smashing the top into his burger and picking it up. "But it is nice that you have that. People who care, I mean."

The air in their little booth grows thick and Kate's cheeks flush. Her chin tips toward her chest and she takes a bite of her lunch, the muscles in her jaw flexing as she chews. The pointed toe of her shoe brushes against his calf again, a deliberate move that has him sliding forward on the seat. Her foot hooks into the empty space behind his knee, eyes flick up to meet his.

"Yeah," she says, dropping her burger and reaching out to snag an onion ring from his plate. "It is."

* * *

Cookie crumbs cling to the corner of his mouth and Rick collects them with the tip of his tongue, both hands wrapped securely around a piping bag. He draws a toothy grin on the face of a gingerbread man, his own smile spreading as the sugary one appears.

"Dad," Alexis says, exasperation making her voice drop an octave. "Why is this gingerbread man missing a leg?"

Rick looks up, finds her brandishing the cookie in question at him. A streak of flour runs across one flushed cheek as she lifts her eyebrows and he fights back the urge to pull out his phone and snap a picture.

"Quality control," he claims, licking icing off his thumb with a shrug. "Plus you needed a Tiny Tim so -" he points at the cookie - "I made you one."

Alexis sighs and slides the one legged man across the island.

"Go ahead and polish him off," she says, waving a hand at the ranks of blank cookies lined up on the countertops. "I made extras."

"And my nefarious plans have worked," Rick says, squeezing a blob of icing onto the remaining three-quarters of the cookie. "Time to meet your maker, Gingy. Or, well, your maker's maker."

" _Gross_ , Dad," Alexis groans, nose scrunching up as she watches him make the cookie beg for its life before snapping the head off with his teeth. "Don't you have a party to get ready for or something?"

Taking another bite, Rick hops off the stool and passes her the half-empty piping bag.

"You may be trying to get rid of me, my child," he says around a mouthful of gingerbread, "but I actually do need to go get ready."

"Out with the lovely Kate again tonight?" Martha asks, one hand patting at her hair as she descends the staircase. "Does this make the third or fourth time this week?"

"Third," Alexis answers for him, carefully placing gumdrops along the roof of her gingerbread house. "They're going to a dinner party at her friend's house."

"Intimate," his mother observes, a sly smile pulling at her red stained lips and head tilting in approval. "And not on the original agreed upon list of engagements, if I recall."

Rick stuffs the rest of the cookie into his mouth.

"It was a last minute thing," he says, crumbs spraying off his lips. "She just found out about it a couple of days ago. No big deal."

Martha's lips press together in that way he dreads. Before she can say something they will all regret - well, mostly him - Rick spins on his heel and starts for his bedroom.

"I'm going to hop in the shower."

Soft whispers from his kid and a tinkling laugh from his mother follow him over the threshold. The door snicks closed just as the word _smitten_ floats past the jamb.

* * *

The container of soup warms his palms through the the plastic bag as he scurries up the walk, eyes squinted against the freezing rain. Transferring the bag to one hand, Rick brushes sleet from his hair, stamps his feet against the brick stoop, eyes already scanning the call box for her last name.

Doubt paralyzes him, keeps his thumb hovering in mid air, two inches off the buzzer for her apartment. He shouldn't be doing this. Should he? The weight his phone presses against his chest, a reminder he doesn't really need, the sound of her sniffling on the voicemail she left him still playing on a loop in his brain.

 _Hey, it's me. Kate. Um, I'm not - I'm not going to make it to Lanie's tonight. Sorry to cancel last minute, I just - I'm not feeling great. I'll talk to you later. Sorry._

His ribs still ache from the hard spasm of his heart when he listened to the message for the first time, a towel wrapped around his waist and wet hair dripping onto his bare shoulders. An hour later and here he stands, soup in hand and a ziplock bag of gingerbread men in his pocket, the need to do something, to fix whatever put that sad crack in her throat, burning hot in his veins.

The latch of the security door clicks and he jumps. The soup sloshes, noodles and vegetables and bits of chicken hitting the plastic lid, and Rick steadies it with both hands. A man, his greying hair standing up in tufts on his head and a sheaf of papers tucked under one arm, hustles out of the building, eyes locked on the phone on his in hand. Rick slips through the narrowing crack as the door swings back home, clearing the threshold with just a few inches to spare.

Skipping the elevator, Rick climbs the two flights of stairs to her floor. Her apartment - 3F, according to the name plate outside - sits at the end of the hall. He lifts a hand, raps his closed fist against the door.

Warmth leaks out into the unheated hallway as the door creaks open, the metal security chain stopping the progress after only a couple of inches. One side of her face, skin pale and eye rimmed in red, fills the crack and his heart does that same little spasm, sharp pain shooting down his side.

"Rick?"

His hands lift of their own volition, presenting the bag.

"I brought soup."

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._


	9. Chapter 9

_Sorry for the double post. Accidentally deleted chapter 8 like a dummy._

* * *

The door swings shut.

A cold fist of regret hits him in the chest, knocking the wind right out of his lungs. His gut churns, acid backing up into his throat, engulfing the single syllable of her name as his adam's apple bobs. Rick rocks his weight back on his heels, shoulders slumping as he twists away.

The sound of scraping metal stops him mid-turn.

"Rick," Kate says, his name barely more than a rasp in her throat as she pulls the door wide. "What are you doing here?"

An oversized NYPD sweatshirt swallows her upper body, a stain that he thinks might be red sauce slashing across the D. The cuffs of her plaid pajama pants puddle around her feet, the tips of her big toes just visible. Her head tilts to one side, sends the messy knot of her bun tumbling.

"I brought soup," he repeats like an idiot, extending the bag again. "It's chicken noodle."

Kate's eyes flick from his to the bag and back again. He smiles at her, tries to mold his face into a look a bit more along the line of reassuring than worried. The door sways a little on its hinges as Kate's weight shifts, rocking forward and back on her heels, mouth twisted to the side. His shoulders drop along with hers when she finally steps to the side, one arm sweeping backward in invitation.

"Come in."

Rick practically jumps over the threshold. Kate sniffles as she shuts the door behind him and he turns back to her, bag of soup still held out.

"Here," he says. "It's not homemade but it should still do the trick."

"Thank you," Kate says, her red-rimmed eyes wet. "I'm not really hungry right now but I'll keep it for later."

The tips of her fingers brush along the backs of his as she takes the soup, cradles it against her chest with one hand, and Rick can't seem to stop himself from stepping toward her, inserting himself into her bubble of personal space. His hand reaches for hers, fingers curling around the side of her palm. Kate's body sways in his direction, one fat tear leaking from the corner of her eye.

Rick reaches up, catches the tear with the pad of his thumb, fingers stretched out to cradle the cool skin of her cheek. Her chest shudders, eyelids slipping shut.

"Kate -"

A piercing screech from her kitchen makes them both jump. Rick's hands fall to his sides as Kate steps back, her pale skin suddenly flushing with blood. The kettle continues its screaming lament and Kate steps back again, each inch of distance making the ache in his chest worsen.

"I was making tea," she says, body angling toward the kitchen. "Do you -"

Rick nods, empty hands moving to his pockets. "Tea would be nice."

"Peppermint okay?"

"Peppermint is perfect," he says, eyes drawn to the way her pants legs drag across the wooden floor as she pads into the kitchen.

Cabinet doors open and close and Rick lets his gaze wander. Her apartment doesn't look anything like what he thought it would, the interior far homier and more lived in than he ever imagined. From the thick blue rug to the oversized white couch with a fuzzy blanket draped across one end, everything about the place makes him feel warm. Welcomed, even.

He narrows in on the built-in and overflowing bookshelf on the opposite side of her living room, knick-knacks and framed pictures decorating the shelves. An old and worn looking leather chair sits tucked into the corner next to the unit, another blanket tossed over the arm, and he can so easily picture her there, legs curled under her body and a mug of tea steaming on the side table as she thumbs through one of the many hefty Russian volumes from her collection.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Rick makes his way over to the bookshelf, leaving his jacket draped across the arm of the couch. Scanning the titles, he picks up a dome shaped glass paperweight, passing the heft of it from palm to palm as he tries to work out the pattern behind her shelving system. The only conclusion he can reach, though, is that there doesn't seem to be one.

Fiction mixes in with what appears to be legal textbooks. Biographies overlap with her sizable Stephen King collection. A few popular Young Adult titles nestle in with a shelf of otherwise classic literature. The mysteries have their own section, three shelves on the side closest to the chair. Rick steps in for a closer look, the paperweight almost slipping from his suddenly loose grip.

Spines, each bearing his own name, fill up three quarters of one shelf. Every title he's ever written - from one off mysteries to the Derek Storm series - stand grouped together, the glossy hardback covers smudged with fingerprints and formerly stiff spines broken. Rick plucks one of the older books off the shelf, flips open the front cover.

 _From the library of Johanna Beckett_

Porcelain clatters behind him and Rick jumps back, heart racing. He flips the book shut, stuffs it back into place. The paperweight clatters against the wooden shelf just as Kate shuffles out of the kitchen, a steaming mug held in each hand. She passes one to Rick, shrewd eyes flicking between his face and the bookshelf. Silently, she turns toward the couch, mug held carefully aloft as she curls herself into a corner, knees pulled up to her chest.

"Oh," Rick says, stuffing a hand into the pocket of his coat as he drops down onto the middle cushion of the couch. "Alexis sent these for you."

He hands her the back of slightly crushed gingerbread men, heart twisting at the site of her weak smile.

"She's so sweet," Kate says, fingering the plastic bag. "Tell her I said thank you?"

"Of course."

Silence falls between them, comfortable and easy. Rick watches her sip her tea, chest aching. A small pile of used tissues sits on the coffee table and he plucks up the box, holds it out to Kate as she sniffles again.

"Do you -" he starts, swallowing around the thickness in his throat. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Kate sighs, swipes at the dampness under her eyes with the fresh tissue. "I guess you're not going to buy that I'm sick?"

Rick shakes his head, sips from his mug. "The crying sort of gives it away."

Her watery laughs deepens the cracks in his heart.

"There you are with those keen powers of observation again."

He gives her a shrugging smile. "It _is_ my superpower."

Her chuckle gets lost in a hiccoughing sniffle. Settling his mug firmly in one hand, Rick cups the other over the rounded knob of her knee. Kate's eyelids fall, her fingers clutching at the still steaming cup of tea. Silence falls over them and he breathes it in, waiting.

"You asked why I became a cop," Kate says eventually, her watery eyes opening to fix on him.

Rick nods. "I did."

Her chest stutters with the deep breath she pulls and Rick scoots a little closer, thigh brushing against the bare tips of her toes.

"Kate, you don't -"

"My mother was murdered." The words detonate like a bomb inside his chest, breaking his heart apart for her. "When I was nineteen. That's why I became a cop."

Rick sits in silence, thumb running back and forth across the side of her knee. The tail end of the tissue sticks out from between Kate's fingers, fluttering against her knuckles in the breeze of her exhale.

"We were supposed to meet for dinner. Her, my dad, me. One last family meal before I went back to school." Kate takes a sip of her tea, steadies herself. "We waited at the restaurant but she never showed. Neither of us worried, though, because it wasn't unlike her to get wrapped up in work and lose track of time. It wasn't until the cops - Detective Raglan - showed up here a few hours later that we knew anything was wrong. We just - We thought she was at work."

Questions flood his mind but Rick bites his tongue, forces himself to keep his mouth shut for once in his life. To let her tell her story in her own way.

"They found her in an alley. Stabbed." Her shoulders pull up, voice going hard. "Called it wayward gang violence. Just something that happens. A statistic. They closed her case without ever really trying to solve it, and that is when I decided to become a cop."

"To solve her case?" he asks, unable to stop himself.

Kate shakes her head. "To prevent another family from having to go through what we did."

Something twists low in his gut and his arms itch with the desire to reach for her, to pull her up against his chest and just - be.

"I looked at her case, of course," Kate says, the anger from moments before melting back into resigned sadness. "Became obsessed with it for awhile. I lost myself in it. It got to the point where my entire life revolved around it. It wasn't healthy."

"What made you stop?"

"Montgomery," Kate says, nose wrinkling as she takes a sip of her tea. She leans to the side, sets the cup on the coffee table, next to the bag of cookies. "He saw where I was heading, made me get help. He helped me realize that the best way to honor her was to actually live, not just wallow in my sadness."

She twists the tissue between her fingers, little bits of cotton sloughing like snow onto her thighs. Fresh tears well in her eyes and she lets them fall.

"My dad went the other way," she says, voice wavering. "He crawled into a bottle at her funeral and has never made it back out. That's why I had to cancel dinner."

Her chest heaves and she pulls her knees more tightly against her chest. Rick moves himself closer, carefully stretches an arm out. Kate leans forward, lets him wrap his arm around her hunched shoulders. One knee presses against his stomach and her head lands on his chest, wet cheek sticking to the front of his shirt. Rick lays his cheek against the top of her head, hand smoothing up and down her bicep.

"We haven't really done Christmas since she died, " Kate says, her voice small and quiet. "We tried the first year after but it was just too hard. So we stopped. But he called me last week, sober and in a good mood, and said he wanted to do something. Exchange gifts, have lunch."

She sniffs, the back of her hand bumping into his chest as she swipes at her nose.

"He sounded so much like his old self, Rick. I couldn't believe it." Her shuddering sigh makes his chest catch. "I shouldn't have."

"What happened?"

"I found him on his kitchen floor. He was loaded and fell, bashed his head against the side of the counter. I called for an ambulance but he refused treatment. Said he would just put some bandaids on it."

"Wow," Rick says, at a loss for anything else.

Her hair rasps against his shirt as she nods. "Yeah. Then he started yelling at me, which is how these scenes usually go. And I was standing there, watching him bleed and yell and fight off the paramedics, and I just - I couldn't do it. I left. I just - I left. "

Her sobs break loose, chest heaving as she cries. Rick leans them both forward, sets his mug next to hers on the table. Settling back into the cushions, he wraps his other arm around her, holds her shaking body. His hand cradles the back of her neck, thumb rubbing a tiny circle against the base of her skull, as tears pool in his own eyes, the pieces of his heart aching for her. For what she's lost, what she's suffered.

Kate quiets after a few minutes, her trembling muscles going still in groups. Rick loosens his grip but she doesn't move, doesn't try to sit up or pull away. Her fingers curl into the front of his shirt, a loose hold that makes him want so very many things.

"I called my aunt," she says at last. "His sister. I told her what happened and asked her to go check on him."

"Is he okay?"

The shoulder pressed against his chest lifts. "Supposedly he agreed to get help. But -"

"You'll believe it when you see it?"

"Exactly," Kate says, bun wobbling as she nods. "I've heard it too many times before. He's my dad and -" she clears her throat as her voice catches - "I love him. But I don't trust him. I can't."

"I don't think anyone could fault you for that."

A soft silence envelops them, broken only by Kate's sniffling. She shifts against him and Rick steels himself for her withdrawal. Her head tilts back, eyes puffy and wet.

"Thank you," she rasps, the sincerity in her voice pulling up goosebumps along his arms.

"For what?"

"For not saying you're sorry," she says, hand splaying against his chest, thumb brushing back and forth across the cotton of his shirt. "For bringing me soup and cookies. For just - for being here."

There is no where else he would rather be.

"You don't need to thank me," Rick says, hand still holding her neck. His eyes flick to her lips, warmth spreading through his middle. "I just wish I could do something. Could help."

Her head dips again, forehead nestling into the spot where his neck and shoulder meet. Her fingers curl into his shirt again and she lets him have her weight, her body fully supported by his.

"This is enough," she tells him, her breath warm against the base of his throat. "This helps."

Rick closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with the lingering scent of her lavender shampoo, content to spend the rest of the night on her couch.

Helping.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._


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